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Edited by Roger Klein, PsyD and Mary McHenry, MSW
Welcome to the September 2011 edition of The TLC Practitioner, an eNews publication from The National Institute for Trauma and Loss in Children, a program of the Starr Institute for Training. We welcome your comments, questions and contributions. Email us at [email protected]. Click on a link below to read more.
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Roger Klein, PsyD
As I reflect on this issue of the TLC Practitioner I am sitting on my deck listening to the soothing sound of the breeze blowing through the upper branches of our cottonwood tree, watching the prairie flowers in our garden sway and dance, smelling the freshly cut grass and admiring the beginning of our river birch dropping its leaves. Directly in front of me two hummingbirds are dancing above my new feeder, its bright red top inviting them in for an early evening snack. The song birds are singing their evening songs, the crickets have begun their hum and the mallards are floating gently down the Rock River flowing by at the end of our yard. It’s a magical evening with a mixture of the warmth of Wisconsin’s late summer and a hint of the coming fall. If you close your eyes, you too can hear these sounds, feel the refreshing breeze and appreciate the beauty of what lies before me.
Dr. Steele provides a thoughtful reflection in this month’s issue on the power of the written word and how writing can allow us to convey a clearer picture of our thoughts and feelings. The spoken word is no match for the reflection and depth that comes with writing, which can unlock access to one’s soul. The simple act of writing helps not only the scribe but also those who might receive the message. If a friend called right now and asked what I was doing, I would probably say that I was sitting on my deck admiring the beauty of our back yard. I would not use the description that I wrote above because the act of talking often relies on quick responses and provides less space for deep reflection.
Perhaps more than anything, this is what I appreciate about trauma treatment and the use of experiential expression through drawing, music, drama, play and writing. Spoken words alone are often not heard by the listener because they are often automatically preparing a response, which interferes with really hearing and understanding the message. I see this happening so often when I’m doing couples therapy. I will never forget the husband who said to his wife during our session that if he had to choose between her and his 17-year-old daughter (who was making life hell for his wife, the step mother), that he would choose her (the wife). He called me less than 24 hours later in a panic stating that his wife announced she was leaving him because she had heard him say at our joint therapy session that he would choose his daughter over her. He pleaded with me to talk to his wife and assure her that he did not say what she heard. This is a classic example of how we cannot really trust that what we say is conveying what we think it is conveying. The written word may at times be misinterpreted but not as often or easily as the spoken word.
Enjoy reflecting on this issue of the Practitioner and most importantly, take some time tonight to reflect on those beautiful seasonal changes that are occurring right before you.
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The Power of the Written Word: Revealing what Behavior May Not
By Dr. William Steele
The power of the written word: revealing what behavior may not.
Writing can be very empowering for adolescents who find it difficult to express themselves verbally. Writing can also create a connection between parent and teen that did not previously exist.
I was introduced to writing as a vehicle for self-expression but also as a way to make connections with others when other methods failed or simply were not accessible. That first connection, that first writing lesson was with my father. I saw and heard little from my father while growing up. He always worked two jobs so was gone most of the time. On those rare occasions when he was home and not too tired, he would play catch with me and occasionally watch one of my Little League ball games. There was little positive connection between us except our love of sports. He wasn’t a bad guy, just absent and not much help in my struggles with my mother. I got really tired of him saying, “What am I supposed to do?” when I asked for his help with her so I soon quit going to him for help. However, my memory of our earlier experience together changed when I received the first of many letters from him during my high school years and three years of college when I was 800 miles from home.
That first letter was a major surprise. I remember thinking, “I didn’t know he could write.” His penmanship was impeccable, neat and clear beyond belief, a skill I never mastered. It was also 10 pages long. He said more in that letter than we had said together in years. That first letter really surprised me. I wondered what else I didn’t know about him. He was a totally different person in those letters: exciting, curious, friendly, thoughtful, helpful, encouraging, and very informative. We made an instant connection neither of us had experienced when I was living at home. He had to feel very safe expressing himself through those letters.
We were not allowed to call home during those days. Cell phones did not exist. There were no pay phones on premise and we were in the middle of the woods, miles from the nearest town. Only the priests had phones in their rooms. His letters were the only contact I had with family. My mother never wrote. Mail was delivered to us once a week in the evening before our final study hall period for that night. There was absolutely no talking in study hall so when his letters arrived I would sit quietly and enjoy reading them. Over the next several years he wrote me once, sometimes twice a month. He never disappointed me.
His letters really became my blueprint for conversational writing and in many ways similar to journaling that so many have found helpful to healing. When I pulled out my stationary to write back to my dad I began writing by simply responding to his comments in the order he presented and added what was happening in my world. After a while I stopped using stationary and went to regular lined paper because there was a lot to write about, and it just felt easier than trying to cram my words into the unlined narrow stationary sheets.
It was sad that both of us found it difficult to express ourselves in the same way when together. I know it was especially hard for him. For whatever reason being together presented a different dynamic but the connection we made through our letters created an unspoken bond that allowed me in later years to let go of the anger, the blame for all he was not as a father. Sadly in those later years, he never spent time with his grandchildren even though we were only a 20-minute drive away. In the last 30 years of his life he never once came to our home, even after attempts to get him to do so. None of it ever made any sense. However, the connection we made through our letters writing back and forth made it much easier to eventually accept that he was what he could emotionally allow himself to be as a father but in his own way taught me several important lessons.
What makes sense is that making assumptions about anyone because of the way they outwardly behave closes the door to discovering that “a different person” may live hidden beneath. It stays hidden until given another medium for expressing themselves.
It makes sense that journaling can be a powerful vehicle for self-expression and connecting with others, and reveals what individual behavior may conceal. It makes sense that our behavior is only one part of what makes us who we are and in fact can conceal deeper truths.
What makes sense to me is that when we discover the good in others, look beyond their behaviors alone, it allows us to forgive, to be more accepting of the strengths that do exist and less insistent, angry or resentful that someone is not what we want them to be with us.
And finally, what makes sense is that in our interventions with traumatized children we remember that their traumatic-driven survival behaviors represent only one part of what makes them who they really are. When we provide them a variety of expressive ways, writing included, their strengths often emerge.
What Makes Sense To You?
Do feel free to comment and/or contact TLC if you have any questions at [email protected].
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Grand Avenue
What we think we are communicating is not always given the same meaning by others. I’m sure we’re all guilty of assuming people know what we mean when in fact they may interpret what we say to mean something other than we intended.
When in Kuwait with a colleague shortly following the Gulf War, we learned, given the cultural differences and challenges of relying on interpreters, that it was critical for one of us to observe our students’ body language while the other was presenting. It was not unusual for interpreters to give our clinical mental health references a meaning that would arouse our students. Sometimes what we presented did not fit with their cultural customs and religion, but most often what they were hearing from the interpreters made no sense. Obviously we were very sensitive to cultural differences but as the concept of mental health was a new one for them and the country, communication of mental health concepts within the cultural context created some challenges. However, we became very good at recognizing when their body language indicated confusion and disagreement as well.
It ‘s not just the words we use but how those words are interpreted that necessitate not assuming that others arrive at the same meaning we intended. What do you think?
What do YOU think? Email us at [email protected] to let us know.
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