Towards Self-Discovery
- Author:
Jill Rynvend
A woman who attends a hospital which specialises in group therapy shares her feelings about this form of treatment and the value it has for her and explores the circumstances which have led to her becoming deeply involved in the group therapy process.
I have always lived my life, outwardly, the way I thought others wanted me to. Mostly I failed?or made myself ill?probably because I misunderstood what they did want me to be. During my childhood I tried hard to be an imitation of the child I thought my parents preferred. At school, the average nonentity on the one hand and the star-prize getter on the other. In my marriage, to be the ‘perfect wife’ without knowing at all what that meant to my husband. To my daughter, a ‘good mother’ without stopping to wonder whether she might prefer a real person. After an abundance of anxiety-making experiences, all coming on top of each other, I started having attacks of panic or ‘phobic anxiety’. In certain circumstances I would feel an overpowering need to escape.
At first I thought it was some physical thing (I had just had a major operation) but soon began to fear the attacks themselves so much that I avoided places and situations in which I thought they might occur. Eventually it took a tremendous amount of will and energy to get out of the house at all, (and then only of necessity as my daughter was still a child). My doctor suggested I should work at home at least to reduce my anxiety about my daughter’s well-being.
For several years I worked at home, dressmaking, so avoiding many of the panic-making situations. But I felt driven to produce couture type clothes, and fretted a good deal about getting things ready in time for fittings. The panic and anxiety stayed and, at the same time, I became quite physically ill. Repeated visits to my GP and hospital X-rays resulted on my being put on a diet. I kept to a diet for nearly two years until I was very thin and still full of phobias?but now had a respectable excuse for not going out to meals. Other physical troubles resulted in my having to have a hysterectomy about this time. I finally got so desperate and depressed about the state I was in, that I persuaded my GP to try and get me some treatment at the Tavistock Clinic.
After a strange interview with a psychiatrist there, I was sent a letter offering help ‘when needed’ as they thought my GP was coping well with a ‘difficult situation’. I immediately wrote back to ask for help at once, in a state of great anxiety that they might not accept me as a patient as they were so busy.
So started a long series of weekly individual therapy sessions, which did some good?though not nearly enough. After a while I felt that I had so many material problems that I had to cope with myself that I stopped the sessions and after a long and fruitless wait from the Employment Exchange, I found myself a job through my local paper. The ordeal of long journeys to work coupled with my dietary problems eventaully overcame me. I was unable to find alternative work nearer home and visited my psychiatrist in an increasing state of desperation. Eventually he suggested that I should go to a clinic for group therapy. My reaction to the idea was of pure horror … rooms full of strangers … journeys … public revelations of private fears and guilts. NO! Never … absolutely not.
I went back to my GP hoping that he would back my refusal, but he, quite reasonably, suggested that I should ‘give it a try’?what had I got to lose? True. By chance I heard of the appointment for an ‘admission group’?how nearly I might have missed the opportunity.
The admission group, in itself, was an ordeal, mainly because I didn’t know what to expect. It was in a seemingly very small room filled with strange faces. Some were staff and some patients, no one tells you the difference, and it is most unreassuringly unapparent. That room does not seem nearly so small now.
Asked whether I thought they could help me, I answered truthfully that I had no idea; asked to explain my problems, I found myself floundering in the inanities and everything which had seemed so overwhelmingly difficult suddenly sounded trivial. After about a week at the clinic, during which time I had been having awful stomach pains, I got too scared to eat, even at home. I visited my long-suffering GP who prescribed some stomach mixture and antipanic pills. Feeling that I couldn’t concentrate in the groups, this medication seemed a good idea. Pain and panic don’t help me to talk?quite the opposite. Mental pain makes me talk, but then only when I cannot bottle up my feelings any longer. At least I was putting myself into a situation repeatedly?daily? which, by choice, I would have avoided.
Large groups of people still make me feel uncomfortable, but I can take part in what is going on to a limited degree; I have some sort of chance to find out why I am afraid. The tension and anxiety are often still there; but, in spite of the thumping heart, dry throat and wet hands, I can sometimes make myself feel easier talking about what might have been bothering me. There is sometimes a physical relief in doing this, just as there is a great amount of physical distress when emotions are not expressed verbally. Some people show their discomfort or tension in groups?especially in large groups?by walking out, frequently fetching cups of coffee and so on. I can only feel tied to my chair. I have occasionally tried reading during a group as a way of shutting myself off from whatever is happening, but it does not help at all.
There are days when to open one’s mouth to talk about what one is feeling results in torrents of tears. Once that has happened to me, I am almost unable to stop the flow and feel quite incoherent. My usual pattern, when feeling so bothered that even my thoughts make me cry, was to stay at home. Lately I have been going to the Clinic even when I feel really bad, which is what it’s all about after all. I can’t say that there is a blinding flash of revelation, when your problems are solved with a few words. Usually what happens is a disappointing lack of response.
It was quite out of character for me to weep publicly and I still have a lot of times when, at home alone, I almost drown myself in tears from my own thoughts. As a child my feelings were put strictly under control, for showing them meant either rejection or punishment. Most of my adult life has been spent in hiding strong feelings, either good or bad. To me, to rationalise was the way out of difficult emotional situations. I could nearly always see the other person’s point of view in a better light than my own, and felt ‘in the wrong’ about almost everything.
I think it has something to do with the way I look. I appear calm and efficient and rather ugly. People resent the ‘poise’ (which is false and worn through habit) and lose patience with the dreary-looking woman who would so dearly like to be liked. Not respected?liked. There is a big difference. Truthfully, I couldn’t care less about being respected; after all, what is there to respect except achievement? I do care about being liked and I’m sure that if only I could make people forget how I look, and try to show them how I feel it would make a tremendous difference.
Beautiful people have one advantage to start with whatever they are like inside. People want to get to know them. They can be kind or cruel, stupid or intelligent, good or bad. It doesn’t matter, because everyone is all those things inside. It’s what’s outside that matters to start with.
Group therapy has made me realise that I am never given that tiny ‘benefit of the doubt’ that beautiful women always get. So, I have to work harder at being all the good things and try to keep the bad things to myself. Of course, this is quite impossible; that’s another reason why group therapy is such a probing and lasting treatment.
Making others understand what you really mean, is perhaps the most difficult and yet the most necessary function of speech. I often seem to be misunderstood; perhaps because of the tone of my voice, or choice of words. This is even more pronounced in group therapy situations.
The main difference, however, between the ‘therapy’ situation and one in life outside the Clinic is that, in the group, people are (one hopes) reacting emotionally, without false pretensions or opinions, which would be quickly spotted by other members of the group. One has the chance to argue and try to explain one’s meaning; and it can be very satisfying when misunderstandings are cleared up. It brings the group closer in some way, and some trust is felt which can be kept in spite of future differences or arguments. This does not happen nearly often enough and because I feel particularly vulnerable, I would like that feeling to be there all the time! A particular example of what I have just said occurs to me. I had been very annoyed and upset because an old and trusted friend of the family had made a pass at me. It wasn’t that I objected to it in itself, but this was the impression I gave the group, whose reaction was that he was ‘only human’ and why should I make such a fuss. I had obviously explained the incident and circumstances badly and when I later had the opportunity in the group to explain that he had visited me with the sole purpose of asking me some very personal questions, which I answered honestly and had 32 asked him not to repeat my confidences to anyone else, the picture began to look different. His unheralded and unwanted pass had seemed to me to be the direct result of what I had been discussing, especially as he must now have thought that I was in no position to complain. I felt emotionally blackmailed, in fact.
The group saw the whole thing in another light, partly as a result of my explanation and partly because they were not involved in the situation. The removal of their implied antagonism now enabled me to see the whole thing in perspective. It would be very unusual circumstances that allowed such complicated and deep exploration of feelings, reactions and motives? outside of a group therapy situation, that is. It made me more aware of the importance of trying to make my feelings clear outside the Clinic. I know I still fail in this pretty often, but I do know it.
I believe we mostly operate on the assumption that other people can fill in gaps of unsaid words accurately and are hurt or dismayed when they cannot. Someone might ask a question of another group member which could be extremely probing. In answering, previously held opinions or feelings have to be carefully examined.
In spite of all this, if the group is functioning well, what is talked about and how it is expressed become more spontaneous. In some way I could not attempt to explain, it becomes easier to make oneself understood. This sounds a bit idealistic; perhaps it is, because new members are constantly coming into the groups, and so misunderstandings can really occur at any time. It’s just that I feel better able to put over what I am feeling.
Obviously, the change is in me. Fighting the spontaneity is still the feeling in the back of your mind that it is so important not to give the wrong impression. If I constantly give the wrong impression to a group of people who see me day after day over a long period of time, then there must be something wrong in the way I express myself.
Equating with this is something else we have to remember; and this is even more important and difficult. It is that the reactions of some of the others in the group could be?in themselves?neurotic and that my original intention was perfectly valid. It is here that patients have to try and learn discrimination and to make their own judgements.
At first I assumed that everything I said must be open to question; that, if any doubt arose, the one at fault must be me. I am just beginning to feel that perhaps sometimes my opinions or version of an event might be perfectly reasonable and that the other person’s reaction is at fault.
I am also beginning to try out some of the things felt in groups, outside them. This has not been a conscious effort but, in writing this, I have come to realise it. It can be difficult, as speaking plainly is often resented. For example it is very hard indeed for me to refuse demands made on my time or sympathy. To realise that such demands?made, for instance, in the middle of the night by someone who I could help much better when wide awake?might reasonably be refused without feelings of guilt. It is worth trying to foster this approach because, in my experience, to give out a sense of duty often results simply in resentment on the part of the giver. I still feel scared to give freely, or too freely, just in case I should then be asked for more than I can or want to give. I’m working on this.
Groups discuss many topics. Some are trivial to start with, such as the mention of a TV programme watched the previous night. However, one can soon predict with some accuracy what the contribution of each person is likely to be. Political ‘bias’, sourgrapes, personal animosity and general attitude to everyday things will influence people’s reactions of course. We surprise each other from time to time by reacting in an unexpected way! Although the subject discussed started out by being trivial, it can develop into a ‘group’ with the members strongly indentifying one with the other although the original experience related was apparently unique to the person relating to it.
I once mentioned a programme about ‘Liquid Theatre’ and tried to convey to the group what it had meant to me. I had thought that the idea of using all our senses instead of only sight and hearing would be a valuable experience. Immediately they reacted by reminding themselves of the ‘DO NOT TOUCH’ notices everywhere and similar admonitions from parents. Soon we all began to feel that, to allow touch to be used freely, there would have to be a lot of trust. We asked each other if we had this trust. Some did, some did not. All were feeling emotion about the idea. Later, these feelings would no doubt be explored personally and people question their reactions.
Group therapy in such situations is also of great value because to know that your feelings are shared by others, whose actual past experiences may be quite different, makes you see things more in perspective. In others’ faulty adjustment is mirrored in your own. After many months, I have got as far as being able, sometimes, to feel and not to reason; to react and not to rationalise. I am trying to find out from among all those people I was, just who I am?good, bad or indifferent.
It is, for me, just the beginning.
Disclaimer
The historical material in this project falls into one of three categories for clearances and permissions:
Material currently under copyright, made available with a Creative Commons license chosen by the publisher.
Material that is in the public domain
Material identified by the Welcome Trust as an Orphan Work, made available with a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 4.0 International License.
While we are in the process of adding metadata to the articles, please check the article at its original source for specific copyrights.