Stuck? Hear How a Good Therapist Can Change Your Life- Podcast: Waking From The Fire

Dear Friend,

There’s a scene in the Movie Good Will Hunting that sums up how a good therapist can help you get unstuck and change your life. It’s between Matt Damon and Robin Williams’ characters and I refer to it in the video and excerpt below.

If you know me, you’ve heard me refer to Frank, my therapist. He was my 4th or 5th, and by far the right one for me. If you’re stuck, read below, watch/listen above to learn how the right therapist at the right time can help you.

Thanks for reading/listening. If anything resonates with you, reach out to me. I love hearing from you. Contact.

Sending love and support,

Peter

Memoir Manuscript Excerpt

Waking From the Fire

Names, Flames, & A Desire For Fame

An Inspirational Memoir

Chapter 30 Frank, My Therapist

“Asking for help isn’t giving up,’ said the horse, ‘It’s refusing to give up.” 

The Boy, the Mole, the Fox and the horse.

There is a scene in the movie Good Will Hunting that portrays healing from childhood trauma more accurately than any other film I’ve seen. Sean, the down to earth no nonsense therapist played by Robin Williams, says to his know-it-all young patient, Will, played by Matt Damon, “It’s not your fault.” He’s referring to his childhood. A seemingly benign sentence, if the scene had ended there I don’t know that I would have ever thought about it again. 

It’s what happens next, then next, and next, that depicts the moment of awakening from dysfunction that I think other movies I’ve seen about childhood abuse either miss or ignore. Pulled into the scene by camera angles and closeups, I observe how I think a good therapist, staying laser focused on what a patient needs to hear, can give someone their life back with one sentence. Sean pauses, then delivers that sentence to Will, “It’s not your fault.”

Will replies, “I know,” confidently. 

Standing feet apart, Will hasn’t heard him. Sean repeats, “No, it’s not your fault.”

Again, Will brushes it off, “I know,” dismissively.

Aware Will still cannot hear him, Sean repeats the sentence again, then again, and again, stepping closer each time until he’s standing face to face with Will, compassionately directing him to look in his eyes, like a good therapist can. Unable to escape, it’s then I observe across Will’s face, transpiring in microseconds what it took me years to experience, some of the stages of waking from the fire that is childhood trauma- first self confidence, then indifference, then defensiveness, then anger, then confusion, then fear, then vulnerability, and finally innocence; in Wills eyes I see his defenses being peeled back, like the proverbial onion of trauma, leaving exposed the hurt little boy inside.

 Studying the scene, Will’s face tells me more- he’s hearing something for the first time, finally understanding, then accepting, his childhood, what happened to him, the beatings, the abandonment, like Sean said, were not his fault. Unable to hold in the years of pain any longer, trusting Sean, Will finally breaks down. His wall, designed to protect himself from a seemingly cruel world, full of untrustworthy adults, crumbles. Exhausted, with nowhere to run, finally giving in, he falls into his therapist's understanding arms, crying for the first time as an adult for what he had survived as a child.

Watching that scene in the movie theater in 1998, 28 years old, caught off guard, I struggled to breathe through the lump in my throat, discreetly wiping tears I didn’t want my new wife to see sitting next to me. When she asked, “You ok?” I did what I always did when I felt feelings that were difficult to hide, I lied, “Yea, I’m fine.” I recall feeling annoyed I couldn’t control emotions I had controlled for a lifetime, confused why the scene was affecting me so much. One reason I was caught off guard was, I had not cried since we buried my father 12 years earlier, when I was 16.

20 years later, after meeting Frank, my new therapist, I watched that scene again, and cried harder, this time without reservation. Unlike the first time, I knew why- One, I finally understood what Sean was trying to help Will understand, and two, I realized I had found a therapist like Sean.

Frank was the 4th or 5th therapist I had seen in my life after my wife encouraged me to try just one more, saying, “Maybe this time, try a male.” She knew I was resistant- I had told the others parts of the story; my childhood, my father, some of the abuse, some of the violence, some of the details of the fire (I don’t remember using the word suicide back then). I’m not sure they heard me. One said I seemed to be dealing with everything well and to continue to think positively.  Another said I was clinically depressed and would benefit from antidepressants, and another said I had to, “Suck it up,” and, “Deal with life.” At least that’s what I heard. 

None of that helped. 

Desperate, I reluctantly set a first meeting with Frank after a brief phone interview. Truthfully, based on past experiences, I was skeptical. Being completely honest, something I would soon learn to be in therapy, I was also scared. Scared to reveal to someone what was really dominating my thoughts- self-doubt, confusion, fear (At that time I didn’t know anger and hate were also running my life behind the scenes). Up to that point, no one knew what I walked around with my entire life, including my wife, and remarkably, me. I would learn, growing up in a dysfunctional home admitting weakness was akin to putting yourself in harm's way. That will help me understand why I, many of my friends and family, and I imagine many others, try to figure all this out on our own, going from guru to self-help book to seminar, affirmations, positive thinking, supplements, drugs, and so on, making precious years of life that don’t always feel worth living drag on.

Shaking Frank’s hand, choosing a comfortable high back leather chair instead of the couch in his office due to being a contrarian, I was glad I ignored my stubbornness and listened to my wife. Sitting at his desk, handsomer than Freud; tweed jacket, slacks, hip sneaker-loafers, goatee, warm eyes, understanding nod- Ivy league professor meet cool guy you want to have a beer with at the pub talking sports, Frank gained my trust very early in our sessions- listening, nodding, confirming- creating the right conditions to confess something I never knew I had to. 

Filling the air in the therapy room around us with what I remembered, occasionally Frank would gently reach out and hold onto some of my memories, grasping them just long enough to explore, like wafting balloons on strings, then releasing them. One of those first memories was hard to acknowledge- with a shaky, self conscious voice, I thought out loud, “I think my father may have been an alcoholic.” Obvious now, back then it was the first time I shared that with a therapist, or anyone else for that matter, including myself. I would soon learn, my young mind dealt with my father’s behavior the best way it could at the time- denial. 

Frank, after hearing the beginnings of my story, paused and asked, “Have you ever heard of Adult Children of Alcoholics. (ACA) It’s a 12-step program. I think they meet Monday nights. You might find it helpful.” That’s all I recall him sharing, leaving the rest to me. 

I thought Frank brought up the 12-step program within the first 10 minutes of our first session. Reflecting, I viewed it as a turning point in my life.  When I shared that with Frank he looked at his notes and said, “It was several sessions later, when I was fairly certain it was appropriate to suggest.” I respect that integrity, not only for the fact that therapy and the 12 step program gave me my life back, Frank never told me what he thought I should do. He only listened, shared what was known about childhood trauma, suggested, then patiently waited, letting me find my way. I admire that about him. 

Often coming face to face with obstinate obstacles in the safety of the therapy room, one kept recurring- though I wanted to believe what Frank was helping bring to light about who I really was, and always had been, a voice in my head kept pulling me back by my shirt, reminding me, “Don’t expect too much. You’re not as good as other people.” And, “They’re going to find out you’re a phony.”

I’d confess to Frank something I never dared reveal to anyone else, “I feel like a failure, like a loser.”

“Hmm” he’d respond, then wait. 

“I don’t think I’m really good at anything.”

“What makes you feel like that?”

“I don’t know, it’s just a feeling I have inside.”

“How do most people in your life react to you?”

“Positively, I guess.”

“How do you know?” 

“People tell me they wish they were as confident and successful as me.”

“That is positive.”

“Yea, but I think they’re just being nice. I get the feeling people don’t really like me.”

“Even though they’re saying nice things to you?”

“I know, but sometimes I think they see through me, or they’re messing with me.”

“Hmm. That’s one way to look at it. What’s another way?” 

“What do you mean?”

“Who in your life may have made you doubt yourself?”

“I don’t know.”

“Tell me again what your father told you.”

“He said I was stupid. He said I was lazy. He told me I wasn’t a good baseball player. He said I was a liar. He said he’d kill me if….. Oh.” 

Silence. 

Tears.

It was simple, yet eye opening exchanges like that one that helped me see something I could never see before, though it was right in front of my face. That’s the insidiousness of childhood trauma, and the benefit of a good therapist. Of course I doubted myself because of what I had been told from a young age by someone I looked up to, and loved. I consider myself a fairly intelligent person, still, I needed a therapist to direct me to obvious truths, Frank saying that’s due to aspects of dysfunction being subconscious.

Early on in our sessions I’d get glimpses of the true self Frank was referring to, causing my eyes to fill in seconds, quickly wiping at them, ashamed I was breaking my parent’s lessons about crying, especially in front of a grown man. He calls it, “Stepping into my power”, and when he says it, it excites me. At those times I cry tears of understanding and hope, like Will, trusting Frank won’t ever use that vulnerability against me, something unaware parents and partners can do. I know, without a shadow of a doubt, I can confess anything to Frank, no matter how twisted, dark, cynical, or judgmental, and he’ll never judge me for it. Sharing that with a friend, she said, “I could never tell my therapist how I really feel.” 

“Why?” I ask. 

“I’m afraid they might judge me.”

I encouraged her to explore that with her therapist, or someone she trusts. If you can’t be totally honest, in my experience, that will compromise your healing, and the therapist's ability to help. 

Sometimes, in those moments of honesty, when Frank’s helping reintroduce me to that innocent little boy- my best self- something unexpected happens. To the right, just past where Frank’s sitting, is a small window. Looking at him sitting in his chair, suddenly, I can see something out the window as clear as I see him that wasn't there seconds before. I can see my future- I’m financially secure, in loving relationships, helping others- I’m happy. Then, it’s gone. Like in the movie Awakenings, again with Robin Williams, after giving his Parkinson's patients a pill, they wake “after decades of stupor and inertia,” remembering who they are, excited, smiling, happy. Then, moments later, they're gone again. 

The reason my visions were fleeting, though I was willing, and wanted to believe what Frank was encouraging me to acknowledge, I could still feel self conscious about my past. It made, and still can make me feel weak, obsessing in my head, Why did it affect me so much. What’s wrong with me? Why couldn't I stick up for myself? Why does everyone else seem to be having a great life, and most confoundingly, being an overachiever and relentlessly self reliant, childhood dysfunction traits society can misguidedly reward, Why can’t I get over it and move on, like all the social media influencers tell me I should.

Humbled yet again by the relentless pull of this disease- childhood trauma- often put on an innocent child by a struggling parent, I complained to Frank, “It’s like it won’t let me go,” making me think of the lines in the Indigo Girls song, “Closer to Fine”;

Well darkness has a hunger that's insatiable. 

And lightness has a call that's hard to hear. 

I wrap my fear around me like a blanket. 

I sailed my ship of safety till I sank it. 

I’m crawling on your shores.” 

Often feeling like I was desperately crawling on those shores, grasping for footing in shifting sand, Frank would say just the right thing at just the right time, “The past doesn’t let you go without a fight.” It was those simple, yet acknowledging insights, delivered by a non judgemental, educated authority,  compassionate human being that I trusted (I guess that’s what it might feel like for a child to get guidance and validation from a healthy parent), completely on my side, that helped me see what I was thinking and experiencing wasn’t unique. Entire psychology classes, seminars, textbooks, professions and 12-step programs were dedicated to thoughts and feelings I thought I alone was experiencing. Frank, having studied them, was the first person to finally help me understand, “Peter, you’re not crazy.”

When I started thanking Frank for helping me, he said, “Right person, right place, right time.” He was being modest, even if he was sincere. His training in understanding dysfunctional families, the traumas they cause, and their resultant manifestations in adult children, has been essential for my recovery. At times it seemed Frank was referring to a book written from the thoughts of my childhood mind, shocking me when he put into words feelings that had bothered me since I could remember. For decades I kept replaying the stories like a hamster on a wheel, always coming to the same conclusion- there was something inherently flawed within me. Those conclusions kept me stuck. I needed Frank to help me break that hurtful cycle by taking me back to my childhood basement, my father’s Blue van, the 50 yard line of Giant’s stadium, not to blame, to help me see what really happened; my father was a sick man, my mother lived in fear of him, and that the anger, hate, judgment, and terrorizing was my father's story, not mine. 

Eventually, while working with Frank, after what felt like brutal self honesty, I’d gain an understanding that made more impact regarding my healing than anything else- I would learn I wasn’t depressed, at least not clinically, nor chemically. I was experiencing the known effects of family dysfunction, the child of an addicted, abusive upbringing. There it was, an explanation for my suffering. I had always sensed I was missing something, telling my wife, “There’s something wrong inside of me,” while she tried to be supportive, “But you’re good at whatever you do. People really like you.” 

Everything I was experiencing was documented, experienced by 1000’s before me who were studied, and, I assume, millions before that. I didn’t need drugs. I needed an understanding of what happened- how my father’s addictions and instability, and my mothers paralyzing fear, results of their own childhoods, made the world an unsafe place, causing my true self to retreat deep within as a protective measure, like Will’s, making me doubt my every thought, then mask it with perfectionism. The shaming regarding my name, the abandonment from both parents, along with the trauma and violence, destroyed my self worth, something we can only get from parents or caregivers in the early years of life.  

I could never have come to those conclusions, nor gain that understanding on my own, no matter how hard I tried, read, demanded, pretended, begged, pleaded, or tried to let it go. I remind friends and clients, not all therapists are created equal. I encourage them, if there was trauma, physical or emotional, during their childhood, they may benefit from seeing a therapist with training in dysfunctional families, like Frank has. Otherwise, my program informs, there is a risk of being misdiagnosed, and perhaps drugged, resulting in walking around slightly numbed, but never getting to the bottom of anything, wasting precious years of life. 

At the end of one of our intense sessions, exhausted from the work, I asked Frank, “Will I always feel like this?”

“How?”

“Like I’ll never be happy.”

Always acknowledging, yet guiding, Frank asked, “What can you be happy about right now?”

“I don’t know…. I guess my relationships with all three of my children, my relationship with my ex-wife, my relationship with my girlfriend, my friendships, my family, my health, where I live, my work dedicated to helping others.” (All better because of my work with Frank and 12-steps). He nodded, then shared another lesson, “Often, the way we ask a question can get us a better answer,” making me fall back into my chair, humbled again by the obviousness of a better way to think, and live, gently reminded by a compassionate, patient professional. 

Recently, in yet another moment of self pity, feeling like a pathetic whiner, I confessed,“ I can hate myself,” shaking my head with disgust. Frank leaned forward in his chair, looked me in the eyes, like Sean, and gently yet firmly made sure I heard him, speaking that one sentence a therapist can repeat to a patient, giving him back his life, in essence, saving it, “Peter, that’s your father’s story. It’s time to tell your story.”

When I shared this chapter with Frank, he responded:

Peter…You gave me a hard assignment. To compare me in any way to Robin Williams and that amazing role. Wow.  I have to get out of my ego, and look at it objectively. First, I am humbled by what you have written, and I am grateful for the work we have done, together. Thank you for your very personal and complimentary narrative. 

The other thought pertains to my statement about changing how you ask a question. I thought about the 50 yard line at Giants stadium, and realized your story revolves around playing defense. You excelled as a defensive player, you stopped the other team from scoring, very well I might say. 

So, consider this, in football you need both offense and defense, in life you play both sides. With childhood trauma defense becomes your primary goal to stay alive. Maybe with the hope, if I can stay alive long enough some adult will save me (the offense). Some adult will see I am a good kid, I can be saved, and loved. That adult has finally come along. You created your saving parent, it’s You.”

Thanks for reading.

If anything you heard/read resonated with you, I invite you to reach out to me. I look forward to hearing from you and connecting.

All My Best,

Peter

Here are some steps and resources that may help you.

• Find a good therapist (They’re not all created equal. If there’s been family trauma/dysfunction in your life, ask if they have expertise in that area. Frank was my 5th, and best therapist)

• Look for a 12-step program if that makes sense for you. I joined Adult Children of Alcoholics & Dysfunctional Families. It saved my life.

• Ask like minded family & friends for help. Not the friends & family that will judge, but the ones who understand what it is to struggle

• Never give up. I was ready to. Thank God I didn’t. My relationships, especially with my children, have never been stronger.

• If it’s right for you, I’d like to work with you- Life & Health Coaching