How many of you in the context of both therapeutic and friendly conversations heard someone complain, be pained, frustrated, worried or angry? I find it easy to be flooded with examples. At these times, the expression has potential to keep that person down and bring us right down with it. The expression creates a truth status for itself. This is ‘the’ way it is: “I am miserable.” This position often limits any movement from this truth thus exacerbating the predicament.
Therapeutic inquiry into what’s ‘absent but implicit’ * turns this expression on its head, so movement can be made. How would we hear those complaints differently if we knew that in the shadows** of them, there was something that person held precious? “I am miserable” often tells multiple stories. Exploring ‘absent but implicit’ invites us to ‘double listening’, hearing both the expression and also what is absent in the expression, but implicit in its meaning. Thus, if someone is complaining about being miserable, this usually signifies something about how they want to be that is different. It is that other way of being that they hold precious. To illustrate this concept, I am going to share a conversation with a woman named Amy.***
I met with a 57 year old woman, Amy, who was abuse by her brother when she was seven years old. She began a session with the following questions and requests: “Why does sexual abuse have to screw up so much of my life? Why does it have such a long devastating effect on people’s life? I want to know, I want you to tell me!”
I was first curious about further specificities of her context and the effects she was referring to. She told me of an intense pain that followed her everywhere in every part of her life. There were times she felt this pain so pervasively that it kept her, either, up all night or, in bed for days. Not only had it brought her to tears for hours, but it complicated and exaggerated physical ailments, including back, shoulder and leg pain. And above all, it left her with a fear that “I will suffer forever”.
Even though her descriptions were detailed, I knew that there was something absent in her expressions of pain, but implicit in its meaning. I understand that her pain is in relation to something– that her pain is a longing for some treasure and/or a hope for something important to her. Therefore, there is always something implicit in expressions of pain that can lead us to what a person holds precious. In addition, the intensity of Amy’s pain is a testimony to how precious she held said treasure. The pain of abuse is related to what it was the person treasured that was violated by the abuse. I asked a question to see what Amy treasured:
J: Can I ask you, when your brother did this, what was it that the abuse stole from you?
A: He took my innocence, he took my joy, he took my joy of life and then it was gone…I had no joy! None!
Amy quite quickly names what is absent but implicit in the pain that she was experiencing. But I decide to clarify it again to highlight this.
J: Would you say that joy is precious to you?
A: Yes!
To highlight it even more, I ask her to quantify this preciousness.
J: How precious?
A: Very, very important to me.
To ensure a multistoried conversation, I aim to keep acknowledging the pain and beginning the process of giving this pain new meaning.
J: Is the longevity of the devastation related to how ‘very, very’ precious joy of life is to you?
A: Yes! Yes!
Now, I am looking for traces into other stories of this joy. I wonder if she made it through 50 years without joy at all. I was curious if there was perhaps some joy at some point and I was eager to learn how and when she allowed joy to return to her life.
J: Has there been a time, when joy started to come back in your life, even a little?
Amy and I had the loveliest conversation about small stories of joy in her life. Interestingly, the stories began in the context of herself as a teenager, pregnant and in a terrible relationship. Out of her apartment window, there was a bird’s nest with a mother bird warming her eggs. Over a period of weeks, she watched the bird often and felt as though the bird was watching her too. It was almost as if they were cheering each other on as they prepared for motherhood. Amy said that watching and connecting to this bird gave her incredible joy. “Perhaps,” she said, “The first joy she felt since she was abused.” She told many more stories about her connection to nature and animals from trees to woodland creatures. For example, to beat off her depression several winters and give herself some joy, she would walk in the woods and follow animal tracks. As she was relaying these stories, more and more joyful times came into her memory, mostly involving children, animals and the earth. Many intentional state understandings were named such as, a steward of the earth, an advocate, compassion, a commitment to kindness and a commitment to children. Amy was realizing that she hadn’t let her brother take all of her joy. That, in fact, she held onto joy through all these years. Through many more hard times, when joy felt scarce to her she knew exactly how to find it in nature and in children. Without giving in to the fear that ‘she will suffer forever’ and just give up, she continues to seek out, practice and work on ways to help herself feel better everyday. This conversation will hopefully make Amy skills more visible to her so that she has more access to them. Given more access, they will be more readily available to her when she wants to counter the pain as it arises.
While I was hearing about all these accounts, I paid particular attention to the people (and animals) that may have touched or be touched by these joyful stories. Speaking through Amy, I had these folks witness Amy’s reclamation of joy and their part in it that reclamation. I asked what contribution each made and how this affected their sense of self, following a re-membering conversations map.¹ I was interested in these conversations ‘peopling her journey’ (or in this case ‘animalling her journey’) in hopes it would acknowledge and therefore further sustain these acts and skills. For our next meeting, I invited a colleague of mine to witness these beautiful stories and provide another acknowledgement for Amy.
This is only an excerpt of my work with Amy, where we continued to have conversations to make meaning around her abuse and subsequent long term pain. However, this conversation was a significant part of our work which we referred back to often. Amy has since left therapy and recently came back as a witness to another young person who was abused by her brother. At the end of this conversation, Amy sat proud of her accomplishments and said, “I really have a good life, now.”
* The therapeutic term ‘absent but implicit’ was coined by Michael White. (See: White, M. (2000). “Re-engaging with History: The absent but implicit”. In M. White (Ed.) Reflections on Narrative Practice (pp. 35–58). Adelaide, South Australia: Dulwich Centre Publications.
**My use of the word ‘shadow’ in no way reflects the connotation of the Jungian ‘shadow’ metaphor or the metaphor of ‘shadow’ as a dark energy.
*** Amy is a pseudonym