by Ben Diamond, Psy.D.

CROSSING THE ISLAND

There’s an old Jewish joke about a man marooned alone on a desert island. When rescued, he shows the visitors his handiwork: his dwelling, his fishing platform, and his synagogue. On the other side of the island, another synagogue. What gives, they ask. That’s the one I don’t go to, he replies. 

We all have places we don’t go to. Our public life is suffused with cruelty that has always been there and is now more explicit than it has been in a long time. There is great pressure to clarify publicly which side we are on; not only to condemn oppressive forces (and they are legion), but also to state that we, as clinicians and people, stand on the side of The Good. This impulse is laudable at one level, and, at another, defends us from inner experiences of aggression and sadism that can be animating and clinically meaningful. We need these experiences to move potently in the world, and welcoming them can help us become more fully alive.

It is tempting to let Bad Others hold what we’d rather not admit to–that there is a cruel streak in each of us. To say, “But I’m one of the good ones.” When we distance ourselves too staunchly from our cruelty, we risk losing something vital. When we ignore our hating and hateable parts, we risk missing them in our patients; we are left with only pieces. I don’t mean we should act cruelly or sadistically. I mean we should stay open to the possibility that we might want to, and might enjoy it. If we do, we stand to be driven less by defensive efforts to avoid badness, and to gain in the spirit and élan that come from facing ourselves more truthfully.

Recently a patient described her cold, distant, demanding mother, who refused to help with her homework and spanked her when she brought home poor grades; who ignored, among other things, her marijuana use beginning at age eight. I watched myself consider my patient’s strength, resilience, and skillfulness in managing the sequelae of these traumas. I worked to mirror her inner goodness, to be a Good Therapist rather than a cruel or absent mother. As she revealed her harshest inner voices, I wanted to align with her against them–to choose a side. 

But then she went on to describe her own malign and bitter feelings–decades’ worth–and her efforts to replace them with positive, loving affirmations. To echo goodness and love would have been to repeat her mother’s neglect. To hear my patient I had to find bitterness, rage, and cruelty in myself, and risk enjoying it. That there might be pleasure here is not a sign of abasement; it is an invitation to a wider range of identifications, truths, and possibilities. 

To choose a side is always to choose two. One is here, the other over there. We can stand in two places at once.