Lisa Find Love

Codependency is more than a relationship problem. It’s a wound to our psyche and individual development. Make no mistake. It’s to no fault of our own. Codependency is adaptive and helped us survive growing up in a dysfunctional family system. But that adjustment costs us our individuality, authenticity, and our future quality of life. The beliefs and behaviors we learned then lead to problems in adult relationships. In fact, they tend to recreate the dysfunctional family of our past.

Origins of Codependency

Codependency is both learned and passed on generationally. It starts in childhood, usually because of codependent parenting, including being raised by an addict or mentally or emotionally ill parent. To survive, we’re required to adapt to the needs, actions, and emotions of our parents at the expense of developing an individual Self.

Repetitious patterning shaped our personality style with supporting beliefs, which were both learned and inferred from parental behavior. They were formed by our immature infant-toddler mind in the context of total dependency on our parents. An example is, “I must not cry (or express anger) to be safe, held, and loved.”

We developed a codependent persona, employing strategies of power, pleasing, or withdrawal to endure dysfunctional parenting. Appropriately using all of these is healthy, but codependents compulsively rely mostly on only one or two. In Conquering Shame and Codependency, I describe these coping mechanisms and personalities as: The Master, The Accommodator, and The Bystander. 

Pediatrician and psychiatrist Donald Winnicott believed that early childhood trauma threatens annihilation of the Self. It’s a disorientating shock that affects us on multiple systems. Trauma marginalizes thinking and impairs our ability to successfully achieve developmental tasks. Imagine a vulnerable infant having to overcome the threat of extinction while navigating interpersonal relationships, which should feel safe. He or she must be hypervigilant to anticipate and interpret parental reactions and adjust accordingly. Normal interpersonal development suffers. Instead, maintaining attachment becomes our priority while we still have to cope with ongoing relational trauma in childhood and later as adults. 

Hence, development of a fully-embodied Self is stunted by this system of accommodation. Effective parenting requires that parents see their child as separate individuals. They must attune to, empathize with, and honor their child’s experience. This allows us to feel safe and helps to develop an autonomous self. With codependent caregivers, we instead attune to them. We perversely organize our mental state to accommodate our parents. 

For example, how can a child navigate safety and fill his or her need for love with an inattentive, anxious, critical, or controlling parent? An anxious or abusive parent makes us anxious and fearful. A controlling parent extinguishes self-trust and initiative. A critical or intrusive parent squelches us, producing insecurity and self-criticism. These early patterns skew our perceptions of ourselves, our work, and our relationships. All of these and other dysfunctional parenting styles breed shame — that we’re bad, inadequate, and unlovable.

The Cost of Codependency

Early insecure attachments with caregivers necessitate that we sideline our spontaneous felt experience. Over time, as our personality and reactions solidify. Our ability to self-reflect, to process new information, to adjust, and to respond becomes impaired. Our reactions become rigid and our cognitive distortions feel absolute. 

Consequently, our individual development is hampered by the selective inclusion and exclusion of data that might provide conflicting information. We develop a template of “should’s” and restrictions that operate beyond our awareness. We do so because at an archaic, psychic level the alternative feels terrifying that we’d risk losing our connection to another person (i.e., parent) and people in general. In support of this, we project our parents’ reaction onto other people. 

For example, some of my female clients have impaired perceptions about their attractiveness and cannot be persuaded otherwise. A few may undergo unnecessary cosmetic surgeries, despite the consensus that they’re beautiful. Similarly, for many codependents, setting boundaries or asking for one’s needs feels selfish. They have a strong imperative against doing so, notwithstanding that they’re being exploited by a selfish, narcissistic, or abusive partner.

The Challenge of Recovery

The antecedents of our codependent personality are buried in our past. For many of us, it started in infancy. Some of us recall a normal childhood and aren’t able to identify what went wrong. Thus, our thinking and reactions go unquestioned and remain obstacles to learning from experience. Additionally, trauma’s effect on the nervous system makes it both difficult and frightening to uncover our feelings. Modifying our reactions and behavior feels perilous. 

We continue to behave according to the early system of accommodation that operates outside our conscious awareness. We’re guided by beliefs we never question, such as the common codependent belief, “If I’m loved, then I’m lovable,” and “If I’m vulnerable (authentic), I’ll be judged and rejected.” Moreover, we interpret our experiences in ways that fortify fallacious, archaic beliefs. An unreturned text confirms that we’ve displeased someone. This can even happen in therapy when we want to be liked by our therapist or fear his or her displeasure, boredom, or abandonment. A friend (or therapist’s) lapsed attention proves that we’re a burden and/or unlikeable. In intimate relationships, instead of questioning whether a partner meets our needs or is capable of loving, we conclude that we’re the problem. Our reactions to our misguided beliefs can perpetuate or escalate the problems we’re trying to remedy. We might unquestioningly repeat that pattern in subsequent relationships. 

Freud’s death wish is nothing more than a shame reaction to a punitive critic that rigidly spews out commandments that mimic an abusive or controlling parent or were developed as a child to avoid the terror of emotional abandonment. Our inner dictates crush our spontaneity and ability to experience the full range of our emotions, particularly, joy. When our normal reactions to parental behavior are frequently shamed, eventually, we can’t access them. We become numb and live an “as-if” life that covers up rage, despair, and emptiness. 

The Process of Recovery

We can heal our childhood trauma. In recovery, we learn missing skills, self-love, and healthy responses. Learning thrives in a safe, nonjudgmental environment, different from the stultifying one we grew up in that continues to dominate our mind. We need an atmosphere that welcomes experimentation and spontaneity where we can challenge the prohibitions embedded in our unconscious. Take these steps:

1. Seek therapy with a competent therapist.
2. Attend Codependents Anonymous meetings, and work with a sponsor.
3. Get reacquainted with your feelings and needs. This can be difficult process. Feelings live in the body. Pay attention to subtle shifts in your posture, gestures, and feelings, such as deflation, anger, guilt, anxiety, hopelessness, and shame. 
4. Explore triggers that shift in your mood and feelings and associated beliefs, thoughts, and memories.
5. Do the exercises in Codependency for Dummies and Conquering Shame to accelerate this process. 
6. Challenge your beliefs. See “Deprogramming Codependent Brainwashing.”
7. Write down and confront negative self-talk. Use the e-workbook 10 Steps to Self-Esteem to challenge your beliefs and inner critic.
8. Experiment, play, and try new things.

© Darlene Lancer 2020

I have experienced sadness and depression, and I know there is a big difference between the two. Even though I live with a diagnosis of schizoaffective disorder, sometimes I feel sad, and I recently began taking medication for depression. When I experience sadness, I drink more coffee, cruise the social network for something to inspire me, and I wish I had someone to ask, “What would you like to do on this lovely, Saturday?”

The last time I experience some depression, I was experiencing some suicide ideation for which, luckily, I did not have to be hospitalized. My psychiatrist, at the time put me on a low dose of an anti-depressant. 

My depression is a deep pool, and I cannot touch the bottom. I am about to sink, and I do not have a way to swim to the ladder or wall. I am surrounded by water and there is nothing or no one to rescue me. The faces of my family pictured on my office wall do not affect me. My mother’s pleas cannot break the wave of water about to swallow me whole. I must cry out for help. 

In 2013, I was hospitalized for my depression for which I had no control. I slept a lot. I could not put into words what I was feeling, however, my doctors understood. I hate being hospitalized, but that was the only way I could leave the ledge and my feet be on steady ground again. I realize now that my only way to save myself was to be hospitalized. Those doctors saved me, and I am grateful. 

The depression reminded me of a similar feeling I had in high school. My dad would say, “Jason, it seems like you have a dark cloud overhead.” I did not know how to explain how I felt. If it were not for my friends at the time, I might not have survived that troubled time. I thought life had no meaning, and life was mediocre. Life would not pick up, nor would I reach that peak of a satisfied life. Now I wonder if I was depressed rather than just sad.

In my early years of college, I was only motivated to work hard enough for an average grade. I was in the depths of a ditch that had no way out. The only thing I wanted to do was to drink alcohol and smoke cigarettes. I had heard of the word depression, but I thought I was just experiencing life. I thought life was hard for everyone, and I was just experiencing life like everyone else. If I could tough it out, I would get through.

About a year or so ago I was having some suicide ideation. I saw a vision of myself holding a gun to my head. I did not think I was conspiring against myself, but these thoughts gave me some concern, even though I did not own a gun. I did not always tell my doctors about my depression or suicide ideation, but that time I chose to do so. 

My diagnosis was schizoaffective, which is schizophrenia with a mood disorder, but surprisingly this was the first time I was treated for depression. My psychiatrist wisely prescribed an antidepressant for me. This turned out to be a huge moment for me.  As a result of being on the new antidepressant, I now catch myself in moments of pure happiness. Despite living alone, I am not overwhelmed with loneliness.

Sometimes I have moments of sadness that are different than my depression. Sadness can feel like tiny arrows pricking me throughout the day. Listening to music helps, and so does dancing. Yes, I dance with myself! Reading comments about the articles I have written about living day to day with schizoaffective disorder can also lift a sad moment and change it into something pleasant. Just the act of writing makes me feel better when I have had a sad thought.

Volunteering has been a way to distract me from sadness I might feel because I live mostly alone. I am the Chair of the monthly veteran’s council where I receive my medical resources and enjoy the idea that I am helping to give a voice and representation to those who might be overlooked by a large system. I also volunteer for the ShareNetwork which is a national volunteer group that allows people to share their personal stories as a way of helping others overcome their difficulties brought on by mental illness and other physical ailments. This does not only just make other people feel like they are not alone, but it makes me feel like I am not alone. The people who work for the share network treat me so well. We have become good friends. It is one of the best things I could have done for others as well as myself. 

I also exercise about six times a week. Exercise is particularly important for my daily routine. It erases the dark cloud over head and even lightens the negativity I might feel with sadness. I like writing the details of the workout I did for the day on a calendar. I do this because I like to see the progression of my workouts before I turn the calendar to a new month. I recommend to everyone to stay active, even if it is just walking around the block. Exercise is the best piece of advice I can give to anyone. 

It has taken me a while to learn that sadness is something that everyone can experience, even every day. However, depression is something altogether different. It is not just an emotion, but it can be attached to mental illness. Given my situation, I must be alert to periods of sadness that can lead to depression. I am glad my psychiatrist prescribed an antidepressant when I needed it. I can talk out sadness, but depression must be treated differently.

Nearly 80 years ago Isabel Briggs Myers developed a personality test she hoped would provide a constructive use of differences at a time when undemocratic regimes were disrupting the peace of the world. We are again faced with turbulent times that threaten our physical and emotional well-being, so it is fitting to describe how the Myers-Briggs Type indicator (MBTI) can again help clients and practitioners see the good in human nature through strengths based psychotherapy and bridging cultural diversity (Myers & Myers, 1980, 1995) in counseling.

Despite recent criticisms of the MBTI and psychological type theory (e.g., “False Portraits,” the article by Jennifer Fayard in the January 2020 issue of Psychology Today), the reliability and validity of its latest version (Form M) have been sufficiently established (Myers et al., 1998; Schaubhut et al., 2009). Furthermore, the MBTI type model provides certain advantages over the traditional trait approach to personality in counseling, in terms of promoting psychological growth and appreciating differences among people. 

Trait vs. Type

Academic psychology regards trait dimensional models of personality (especially the Five-Factor Model, FFM) as a given fact (Reynierse, 2012). However, FFM based trait instruments are not conducive to a positive constructive purpose in counseling, mainly because they generally consist of continua anchored with socially undesirable and socially desirable poles. In contrast, the MBTI points to preference dichotomies (e.g., Introversion or Extraversion, Intuition or Sensing, Feeling or Thinking, Perceiving or Judging) that are construed positively regardless of preference. The MBTI combines these preferences to form 16 psychological types that provide “portraits” for individuals with which to identify. 

Additionally, MBTI types can be contextualized (Hawkins & Meier, 2015) and applied at different levels of the person-environment context (person, dyad, family, group, career, community, nation, and worldview). 

A commonsense justification for typologies is that people naturally categorize the world, often in either/or fashion, and form stereotypes (Allport, 1954, as cited by Prince & Soper, 2019). As they obtain more information they refine these stereotypes through experiences with people who are different, and this familiarity reduces prejudice and increases understanding and liking. As a fictional example, many Star Trek episodes start with the Enterprise approaching a “Class M” (i.e., earthlike) planet, beaming down to the surface, encountering distrust and danger from the inhabitants, overcoming these obstacles, and finally accomplishing peace through which good qualities and values emerge and are acknowledged.       

For 40 years I have included the MBTI in my individual, couples, family, and group psychotherapy as a means for improving self-esteem and enhancing communication among people with differing psychological types, genders, and cultural backgrounds, in an approach akin to George Kelly’s (1955) “fixed role therapy”. In interpersonal contexts the client is invited to view others’ behavior and intentions through the lens of the 16 psychological types, appreciating differences in good faith rather than passing negative judgments. Used in this constructive way, the MBTI enhances my therapeutic alliance with my clients and helps to personalize evidence-based techniques in accord with the clients’ type preferences and values. The following example case study (adapted from Hawkins, 2000) illustrates this application of the MBTI and psychological type in the counseling context.   

A Case Study in Clinical Depression

Don, a 17-year-old Caucasian single male high school student, is being referred for individual and family counseling at the recommendation of his parents, former therapist, and his psychiatrist, for a major depressive episode (in partial remission) along with a history and current diagnosis of ADD (attention deficit disorder) and a possible social anxiety disorder.

Don’s mother has been worried about her son’s low grades, inattentiveness, decreased motivation toward school work, and “rebellious attitude.” This pattern is especially notable in Don’s English class, where he notes that “my English teacher worries about me and pressures me like my Mom, but in a more highly caffeinated way.” When his mother exhorts Don to study harder, he reportedly becomes more resistant, but also feels guilty and disappointed with himself.  

Don’s father is less concerned about his son’s school problems, as he describes having similar issues with inattentiveness and lower grades when he was in high school. Regarding Don’s relationship with his former therapist, he relates that he liked her because she gave him some concrete skills for coping with depression and did not “nag” him like his mother. Don disagrees with his female psychiatrist’s prescription of Wellbutrin, which he claims has not been helpful. He says he stopped taking this medication without informing his psychiatrist and has instead been experimenting with St. John’s Wort.  

Exploring the Role of Personality Type in Don’s Difficulties

The Myers-Briggs Type Indicator (MBTI) was offered to Don and his family to discover how some of his difficulties might be exacerbated by personality differences between Don and his family/social environment, and uncover strengths and positive motivations that would improve communication through the appreciation of these differences. Don and his family agreed to take the MBTI, with feedback and type verification provided separately, followed by a family consultation session (Finn, 2007) where the MBTI findings were discussed. 

Don’s reported preferred type is INTP (Introverted Thinking with Intuition). He strongly identified with the positive portrait of this psychological type, noting in particular that it mentioned computer science and website construction as possible interests, which Don endorsed as his major motivation in school. Don’s mother’s type preference is ISFJ. His father’s type is ENTP, and his brother’s type is INTJ. Don wondered if his parents’ MBTI types might explain why his mother worried about his school performance and future, while his father was less concerned, believing that he would “grow out of it” as Don’s older brother did. Don’s parents accepted the INTJ psychologist’s suggestion that the father work more closely with Don on his planning for college and participate with his son in their mutual interest in competitive running. In so doing the father would also help support his wife so that she would worry less about Don’s future. 

In subsequent individual sessions Don and I explored the possibility that psychological type might help explain how his social relationships were more or less challenging for him due to type matches or mismatches. For instance, his former female therapist (an ISTJ) was logical minded, which allowed Don to better accept her concrete, skill-building CBT homework assignments. His female psychiatrist (likely an ENFJ), on the other hand, was less logical in Don’s view, not debating with him the pros and cons of the antidepressant she told him to take. 

We also discussed other tools related to psychological type applications (e.g., the Murphy-Meisgier Type Indicator for Children, the Student Styles Questionnaire, and the Salter Environmental Type Assessment) that can be used to help accept and accommodate these differences. For example, with respect to his high school setting, which he described as “ESTJ”, Don said he could understand the logic for this structure, and would accept it if there was some flexible accommodation for his learning style. 

We estimated that his English teacher’s type may be ESFJ, which in combination with a subject where he has less interest, would mean that he would perceive her teaching style to be rote, “pushy” and less “logical.” This led us to more focus on Don’s subclinical social anxiety and his unassertiveness coupled with feelings of anger, guilt, and shame. INTP males are overrepresented among clients with social phobia (Hawkins, 1989), and are less interested in “feeling talk” and less skillful in social exchanges, particularly when interpersonal sensitivity and tact are needed for effective assertiveness. We role played these social skills, which he then used with his English teacher, his psychiatrist, and even with his mother. Consequently, he admitted that sometimes “feeling talk” can be useful, especially in forming relationships with potential dating partners. 

The Outcome

In this case study the client experienced numerous mismatches between his individual temperament and the available social environmental resources (Chess & Thomas, 1999). It is important for the therapist first to use the MBTI and similar instruments to reveal the matches and mismatches to validate the client’s understanding of himself and his world (i.e., discovering his “gifts”). Then can begin the second task of helping the client appreciate and value these differences without passing judgment on self or others. This process is an ongoing bridging of differences by seeing their complementary nature (Kelso & Engstrom, 2006). Just as Kegan (1994) offers the visual gestalt shift from seeing the two holes at the ends of a tube to appreciating the “whole” tube that links the two ends, the MBTI framework, applied at different contextual levels of the social ecological system, provides a strength-based framework to complement the usual problem-focused approach used in clinical psychology.

In this model the effects of the mismatches with both his parents’ psychological types, the “bureaucratic” school setting, his social avoidance and his limited social support failed to ameliorate depression, social anxiety, and personal/social alienation. However, through the individual and family treatment (12 individual sessions, plus two family consultation sessions) Don was able successfully to graduate from high school with several advanced placement classes under his belt, was accepted into a computer science program at a prominent university, and is doing well at the end of his freshman year.

References

Allport, G. W. (1954). The nature of prejudice. Reading, MA: Addison-Wesley.

Chess, S., & Thomas, A. (1999). Goodness of fit: Clinical applications from infancy through adult life. Philadelphia, PA: Brunner / Mazel.

Fayard, J. (2020). False portraits. Psychology Today, January 2020 issue. https://www.psychologytoday.com/us/articles/201912/false-portraits.

Finn, S. (2007). In our clients’ shoes. New York, NY: Routledge.

Hawkins, R. C. II. (1989, August). Psychological type and anxiety disorders: Preliminary findings. Paper presented at the annual convention of the American Psychological Association, New Orleans, LA.

Hawkins, R. C. II. (2000, March). Using the MBTI and SSQ in family counseling with teenagers with Attention Deficit Disorder. Paper presented at CAPT Fourth Biennial Education Conference, Gainesville, FL.

Hawkins, R.C. II, & Meier, S.T. (2015). Psychotherapeutic theories of change and measurement: An integrative model. Journal of Unified Psychotherapy and Clinical Science, 3(1), 80-119.

Kegan, R. (1994). In over our heads. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press.

Kelly, G.A. (1955). The psychology of personal constructs. New York, NY: Norton.

Kelso, J.A.S., & Engstrom, D.A. (2006). The complementary nature. Cambridge, MA: MIT Press.

Murphy, E., & Meisgeier, C. (2008). A guide to the development and use of the Murphy-Meisgeier Type Indicator for Children. Gainesville, FL: CAPT.

Myers, I.B. & Myers, P.B. (1980, 1995). Gifts differing. Palo Alto, CA: Consulting Psychologists Press.

Myers, I.B., McCaulley, M.H., Quenk, N.L., & Hammer, A.L. (1998). MBTI Manual: A guide to the development and use of the Myers-Briggs Type Indicator (3rd ed.). Palo Alto, CA: Consulting Psychologists Press.

Oakland, T., Glutting, J. J., & Horton, C. B. (1996). Student Styles Questionnaire: Star qualities in learning, relating, and working. San Antonio, TX: Pearson Associates.

Prince, A., & Soper, H.V. (2019). Development of prejudice. In: Soper, H.V., & Gaines, K.D. (Eds.), Hidden cultures in clinical psychology. Fielding Monograph Series, Volume 13. Santa Barbara, CA: Fielding University Press.

Reynierse, J.H. (2012). Toward an empirically sound and radically revised type theory. Journal of Psychological Type, 72(1), 1-25.

Salter, D. W. (2000). SETA manual: A users’ guide to the Salter Environmental Type Assessment. Palo Alto, CA: Consulting Psychologists Press.

Schaubhut, N.A., Herk, N.A., & Thompson, R.C. (2009). MBTI Form M: Manual supplement. Palo Alto, CA: Consulting Psychologists Press.

Events are traumatic when they are highly stressful, frightening, or distressing. Such experiences can inflict deep psychological wounds, damaging our mental health and reducing our overall sense of wellbeing.

That being said, could there be a silver lining to trauma?

To even pose the question can seem insensitive to those who have suffered, or are suffering, acutely. Still, while the costs of trauma are well-documented, less consideration has been given to the counterintuitive possibility that trauma might contribute positively to our wellbeing in particular ways. And given that nearly all of us will experience traumatic events over the course of our lives, this is surely a possibility worth exploring — particularly if there’s a chance we can help realize any potential upsides through our reactions to trauma.

Before considering whether traumatic events can make any positive contributions to our wellbeing, we should take a moment to consider what we mean by “wellbeing”. While no universally agreed definition exists, most theorists agree that wellbeing is multidimensional; in other words, that it is made up of different parts, encapsulating much more than just feeling good.

One influential conception of wellbeing is offered by Martin Seligman (2011), the main pioneer of Positive Psychology (the subdiscipline of psychology which studies the conditions of human flourishing). According to his PERMA model, our wellbeing is built from the following five components:

• Positive emotion
• Engagement
• Relationships
• Meaning
• Accomplishment

Towards which component of wellbeing might traumatic experiences contribute something positive? According to research by Sean Murphy and Brock Bastian (2020) at the University of Melbourne, the answer could well be meaning; the foundation of wellbeing enhanced when our life and experience is felt to serve some higher purpose. In a series of online studies, they sought to test the hypothesis that whether an event is felt to be meaningful is not a matter of it being positive or negative, but the extremity of emotion it evokes.

Though this question had not been directly investigated before, there are good grounds for suspecting that, for meaning, extremity of emotion matters more than valence (i.e. whether emotions are positive or negative).

It is easy to see why events that produce extremely positive emotions could give a sense of meaning. Moments of profound awe, connection to others, and great inspiration represent peak experiences that help shape our life narratives. Times of great distress, grief and fear are less obviously suffused with meaning. Nevertheless, there are reasons to think that people might ultimately construe even extremely negative experiences as meaningful.

Traumatic events can challenge our understanding of the world in profound ways (Park, 2010). They may, for instance, cause us to revaluate a belief that life is fair, or that everything happens for a reason. This can bring about major transitions in our outlook that, once gained, we would not wish to lose. Perhaps for this reason, we often see traumatic events as influential to our personal development; as times when we may have discovered a new side to our self, such as a depth of resilience we never thought we had, or expanded our understanding of the world around us.

There are also characteristics shared by extremely positive and extremely negative events which give the potential for meaning. For example, where events create intense emotions, we tend to accord them significance, whether positive or negative (Fredrickson, 2000). Significant events are those parts of our life stories that stand out, naturally imbuing them with a sense of meaning.

Extremely positive and negative events also share a tendency to bring people together. Where traumatic events are concerned, this can either be because our trauma is shared with others, or because others rally to our aid in our hour of need. Great bonds of camaraderie can be forged in the furnace of traumatic experience.

Finally, research shows that all extreme emotions tend to induce contemplation (Rimé, Philippot, Boca, & Mesquita, 1992).  Often this means contemplating how an emotive event, and the circumstances surrounding it, connect with our deeply held values. This can increase the significance of the event to our life narratives.

To test the hypothesis that emotional extremity, rather than valence, is what leads us to see events as meaningful, Murphy and Bastian (2020) asked a sample of Americans to think of two events in their own lives occurring within the past year: one which produced extremely positive emotions, and one which produced extremely negative emotions.

They also asked their participants to rank:

• How meaningful they felt each event to be.
• The intensity of the positive or negative emotions they felt in response to each event.
• To what extent these experiences had increased their connection to others.
• How much they had since contemplated these positive and negative events, respectively.

When they crunched the numbers, the researchers found that, as expected, events evoking extreme emotion were more likely to be considered meaningful. Crucially, it made no difference whether these extreme emotions were positive or negative.

They further found that this relationship between emotional extremity and meaning depended on:

1. The intensity of emotions felt, with greater meaning attributed to events that produced very intense emotions.
2. The degree of contemplation sparked by an event, with more contemplation associated with a greater sense of meaning.

It is important to say that because these findings are correlational, we cannot say for sure that extreme emotions caused the sense of meaning participants reported, even if there are good reasons to think this likely. It could be that people more prone to extracting meaning from experience in general are also more susceptible to feeling extreme emotions. Nevertheless, the findings do point to the possibility that traumatic events offer something of potential value in addition to the pain they cause.

The fact that study participants found their emotive experiences to be more meaningful the more contemplation they had given them suggests we have some agency in obtaining meaning from our trauma. By reflecting on what lessons a traumatic event could teach us, or its importance to the story of how we came to be who we are, we may be able to reframe the event as something meaningful, without having to deny the pain it caused or is causing.

Traumatic experiences are not something any of us desire, but they are something few of us will be able to completely avoid during our lives. It is reassuring to think that we could, in time, distill meaning from our hardship, shift our focus from what was lost to what was gained, and reclaim something affirmative to our wellbeing in the process.

References

Fredrickson, B. L. (2000). Extracting meaning from past affective experiences: The importance of peaks, ends, and specific emotions. Cognition and Emotion, 14(4), 577–606.

Murphy, S. C., & Bastian, B. (2020). Emotionally extreme life experiences are more meaningful. The Journal of Positive Psychology, 15(4), 531-542.

Park, C. L. (2010). Making sense of the meaning literature: An integrative review of meaning making and its effects on adjustment to stressful life events. Psychological Bulletin, 136(2), 257–301.

Rimé, B., Philippot, P., Boca, S., & Mesquita, B. (1992). Long-lasting cognitive and social consequences of emotion: Social sharing and rumination. European Review of Social Psychology, 3(1), 225–258.

When I was 14 years old, I entered my freshman year of high school feeling nothing but a dull sense of disquietude. I was not happy to be starting the new school year. I was always “the quiet kid”, and that label only rang truer over time, as I retreated further into my shell with each passing school year. I had few friends, and the ones I had were fair-weather, frequently passing up hanging out with me in favor of others. I knew in the back of my mind that I should feel stressed or upset when the year began, but I just felt empty. 

My late childhood and early adolescence, meant to be a time of growth and learning, instead left me emotionally stunted. My stepfather was dying from congestive heart failure, the organ covered in scar tissue from the multitude of heart attacks he had suffered over the previous several years. He had ignored the advice and warnings of several doctors along the way, worsening his condition. My home no longer felt like a safe haven with the presence of death constantly looming. 

The lack of oxygen going to his brain and his constant feeling of general malaise cut his already short fuse down to nothing. You could not have a conversation with him for fear he would snap at you, and when he wasn’t in the hospital he barely left his bedroom. He was a husk of his former self, a bitter man consumed by sickness and regret. Every day my mother and I wondered if it was his last. As guilty as I felt for feeling this way, he was an unwelcome presence in my home. I do not think of sick people as intrusions and I know he was suffering greatly, but with the way he spoke to my mother sometimes, I could not help but feel resentment.

I was not comfortable at home, and school was certainly not an escape from stress. I had nowhere to turn, and no sense of reprieve. 

You expect to feel a certain way in response to trauma. You expect to cry frequently and have difficulty with your everyday tasks. However, instead it felt like my brain was full of TV static. 

I floated through my days in a dreamlike state, days blurring into one another. My life felt like an endless slog, each day as equally grating and unimportant as the previous one. I did not care about my subjects in school; I did my assignments on autopilot and would only speak when spoken to. Colors appeared less vibrant and my vision was hazy. The world around me and the body I was in felt foreign. Sometimes when I saw my own reflection I would barely recognize myself.

I didn’t know exactly when this detachment from reality had come to be, as I was slow to notice it happening at all. I knew that I used to feel things more deeply, and then one day, I no longer did. I didn’t give much thought to my surroundings, but over time I had a creeping realization that the ineffable connection between myself and the world around me had been severed. 

I was easily confused, my memory was spotty, and some days I was barely able to form a coherent sentence. My trains of thought were frequently derailed. I felt as though my mind was buried in a dense fog, keeping me from finding the proper words for what I wanted to communicate, forming logical connections, and digging through memories. I simply could not concentrate on anything. I had unexplained headaches and hand tremors. Distantly, I wondered if I had a brain tumor, but did nothing to investigate, even though on some level I believed it was a distinct possibility.

There were times when I thought I was going insane. I felt like I was trapped inside a body I did not recognize, forced to play the role of student and daughter in a farcical world, a cheap stage set that seemed to fool everyone but me. I understood on a fundamental level that my surroundings were real, but my physical perceptions and dampened emotional reactions seemed to indicate otherwise. No stimuli, no words, no information or person could elicit an emotional response naturally; I had to play pretend. Sad stories and events had almost no effect on me; I could not cry even if I tried. Life felt like a sick joke, and nothing mattered to me anymore. 

Back then I thought I was just “crazy” and alone in my experience. However, I later learned that these disorienting, alien sensations were not a sign of my mind unraveling. I was experiencing depersonalization coupled with derealization — a condition that I was surprised to find is not uncommon. I now think of it as my brain’s best attempt at coping with my circumstances, despite how unsettling it felt at the time.

A 2004 review by Hunter et. al. of then-current studies on depersonalization described the experience in a way that resonated with me, as it was so accurate to what I went through: the authors discussed a “dream-like state” in which the sufferer may feel a “loss of empathy and a sense of disconnection with bodily parts” to the point that one feels “as though they are observing the world from behind glass.” They pointed out that depersonalization is often accompanied by derealization, “in which the external environment also appears unfamiliar, with other people appearing as though actors and the world appearing as if two-dimensional or like a stage set” (p. 9). As I was scared to go to therapy and face my problems head-on, I spent many nights as a young teenager Googling my symptoms. Seeing my exact experience written about by clinicians and discussed in online forums made me feel less alone, and reading about its prevalence validated me further.

Clinically significant feelings of depersonalization can occur as a primary disorder (Depersonalization/Derealization Disorder), but often present as part of an array of symptoms related to a mental illness such as depression or anxiety (Michal et. al., 2011, p. 106). Depersonalization can also be triggered in response to trauma as in my case. While feeling detached from reality for an extended period of time is not considered normal, transient experiences of depersonalization are fairly common even in healthy individuals, particularly in states of high anxiety or sleep deprivation. Multiple studies have investigated the prevalence of these symptoms during traumatic events, reporting rates “varying from 31% to 66%” (Hunter et. al, 2004, p. 11). A more general “lifetime prevalence rate” of these experiences has been recorded as “between 26% and 74%” (Michal et al., 2011, p. 106). 

As I became more aware of my symptoms and had a prospective name for them, I found myself scared of my own physical body. I would stare at my hands until it hit me that they belonged to me, and I occupied a physical space in the world, and I was real. The thought sent a jolt of fear through me, as it forced me to realize with jarring clarity how truly disconnected I was from myself.

Baker et. al. (2007) described how depersonalization can cause anxiety if a person experiencing it is hypervigilant of their symptoms and worries excessively about them, considering every tiny change in their mental or physical state as a sign of their condition worsening. Symptoms of depersonalization may be “misinterpreted as indicative of severe mental illness or brain dysfunction” and hypervigilance may cause “a vicious cycle of increasing anxiety and consequently increased sensations” (p. 106). I thought I was broken inside; irreversibly damaged. Of course, that wasn’t true.

When I was 16, my stepfather passed away, and I felt as though I had sunk to the bottom of the ocean; my surroundings and emotions were muffled. Rather than dealing with my sadness right away, the emotional blowback came in flashes over the course of months. There were days when I was immobilized by the weight of it all, surrounded on both sides by months of complete numbness. 

I gave in and began going to therapy so I could come to terms with how my brain worked. What helped the most, though, was simply time. I was able to distance myself from my bad memories and cope with them as time passed, especially once I graduated high school. My symptoms improved slowly but surely over the course of a couple years, gradually returning color and vitality to my life. I noticed that I felt better overall, but whenever I became stressed or was reminded of my past trauma the barrier between myself and my surroundings returned. 

Now at 23 years old, symptoms of depersonalization show themselves when I am anxious, but they are less constant and never as severe as they were at when they first started. These feelings do not scare me as much, as I know I am not “broken”, or going insane, or dealing with a threat to my safety. Acceptance of my symptoms actually decreases their severity and helps me focus on the underlying stressor causing them. My experiences are a part of me, but I try not to let them hold me back, though some days that is easier said than done.

References 

Baker, D., Earle, M., Medford, N., Sierra, M., Towell, A., & David, A. (2007). Illness perceptions in depersonalization disorder: Testing an illness attribution model. Clinical Psychology & Psychotherapy, 14(2), 105–116. https://ift.tt/3i85q8G

Hunter, E.C.M, Sierra, M., & David, A.S. (2004). The epidemiology of depersonalization and derealization. Social Psychiatry and Psychiatric Epidemiology, 39, 9-18. https://ift.tt/3kitJTh

Michal, M., Glaesmer, H., Zwerenz, R., Knebel, A., Wiltink, J., Brähler, E., & Beutel, M. (2011). Base rates for depersonalization according to the 2-item version of the Cambridge Depersonalization Scale (CDS-2) and its associations with depression/anxiety in the general population. Journal of Affective Disorders, 128, 106-111. https://ift.tt/31onu7G

Anxiety. Everyone is feeling it during the pandemic. Anxiety about the virus, anxiety about going places and not knowing how safe it is due to the virus, anxiety about the economy, anxiety about paying rent or medical bills when finances have been impacted by the virus, anxiety about sending kids back to school, anxiety about dating during the pandemic, anxiety about missing out on experiences, anxiety about the future, anxiety about having anxiety! Did I name yours yet?  

As an expert in treating anxiety, I’ve seen the spike in anxiety caused by the pandemic for my clients, my friends and family and neighbors, and at times for myself as well. Anxiety is part of being human: it is our fight-flight-or-freeze reaction that evolved as a survival instinct, to help us avoid or defeat serious and immediate threats to our safety.  That instinct was meant to trigger a burst of energy (cortisol, a stress hormone, which tells us to “hit the gas”) for a short window of time for us to get to safety. It wasn’t meant to be a way of living and feeling day to day; staying in fight-or-flight state for extended periods wreaks havoc on our bodies (messing with our digestion, decreasing sleep or sleep quality, compromising our immune system), our mental capacity (our executive functions like focus, memory, decision-making and planning), and our ability to cope (regulating emotion, mood, behavior).

In most of my work pre-pandemic, I taught people to recognize their survival instinct turning on and staying on when it wasn’t necessary — while getting stressed is normal and can be motivating, getting highly anxious in scenarios like public speaking, test taking, and socializing can be counter-productive, embarrassing, and limiting for our potential. My job was helping people over-ride and turn off their “panic button.”

Anxiety, as well as anxiety treatment, during the pandemic is a bit different. Your brain is not wrong to think that there are dangerous threats lurking around the corner in your current environment or near future. There are real threats right now to our physical safety, our financial stability, our children’s social and academic development, and our mental and emotional well-being. The challenge is not to eliminate the fear that we are feeling, as we would treat a phobia by eliminating the fear of a test or public speaking or entering a group conversation. The challenge in coping with anxiety in the pandemic is to be okay, right here and now, in spite of real fears and real obstacles. To be able to be calm amidst threats.  

Coping with anxiety during the pandemic is about being present, mindful, courageous, and compassionate.  We must be present because thinking into the future is uncertain and can be scary, while the present is usually okay enough for us to feel okay. We must be mindful in order to keep ourselves in the present — catching ourselves when we start to dread or overthink things, shifting our focus to present experiences. We must be courageous to mindfully notice our fear and yet still choose to focus on the here and now and try to enjoy it.  And we must be compassionate with ourselves and each other because courage in the face of this fear is hard, mindfulness takes practice, and being present can be truly challenging — so we have to be kind as we fumble through the process. Here is how: 

• Be Present: The present is where we have control of our choices and actions, and where we can enjoy positive experiences if we choose to do so. You can practice pulling yourself back into the present in different ways throughout your day. Choose activities during your day to “tune in” as much as possible — turn off the phone, have the goal in mind that you are going to be present, and focus on your five senses and what you are experiencing in that moment. That can be eating a meal, taking a walk, or even brushing your teeth. In the moment you are doing something, think only of that thing and chances are that it feels okay: there isn’t anything painful or scary about brushing your teeth right? Eating something delicious is enjoyable, right? When you focus your attention on what you are doing and feeling in that moment then you can start noticing feeling and being okay. And if you can notice being or feeling better than okay, by tuning in to more positive experiences than just tooth-brushing or eating — well that’s even better! If it is tough staying present though, start with these small moments. Some of my clients who struggle with feelings of panic find comfort in reminding themselves, “In this _______ (moment, 10 seconds, breath, minute, hour, activity) I am safe, I am okay.”
• Be Mindful. Being present is a big part of mindfulness, and practicing mindfulness will help strengthen your ability to be fully present. If you are looking to start a mindfulness practice, pick whatever practice you will actually stick to: could you use Headspace app every day for a month? Could you watch a short guided meditation on Youtube three mornings a week, keeping it on your google calendar as a reminder? Can you meditate before you fall asleep three nights a week or more, using the Peaceful Place Meditation (see instructions here)? Would you listen to a meditation from tarabrach.com (highly recommend — she is wonderful) once a week? Choose ONE practice you will stick to, and incorporate it into your daily or weekly routine — your mind needs this as routine hygiene the same way you need to brush and floss and shower.  Know that you might not feel relief or relaxation the first time or the first ten times that you do this — you don’t lose weight your first time on a treadmill either, it actually might be pretty uncomfortable at first. This is a “If you build it (your mindfulness practice), they (calm feelings) will come” type of deal that takes a lot of repetition, but research shows the massive payoffs for your brain and your mood in as short as 8 weeks. In as little as 2 weeks, my clients notice feeling calmer, having an easier time meditating for longer, and having less distress in response to triggers.
• Be Courageous. Choosing to be present, and practicing mindfulness to get better at staying present, is a courageous thing to do in the face of a TON of uncertainty and fear. Your anxiety is your survival instinct telling you to actively do something to get away from danger, so the urge is to worry, fixate, obsess, check the news, lest you might forget about the threat and then lower your survival chances. The courageous choice here is to bravely tune out the threat — to notice the anxiety but ignore your own instincts and trust that it will be ok to do this, in order to take back control of your own nervous system and access your experiences in the present. This is hard work! The good news is: We can do hard things! Think back to a time that you did something hard even though it was scary or painful — maybe pushing through running a marathon, or your first day at a new job, or maybe it was recently going somewhere public with a mask on even though you felt scared. Notice how it felt to use your courage, and know that this courage is a resource you have used so many times already in your life — it’s in there, ready for you to use it now, and you’ve already been using it some to get through your daily life since the pandemic started.
• Be Compassionate. Did you just read my paragraph on courage and think to yourself, “But what if I can’t ignore my anxiety? What if I’m not courageous?” That’s okay. All of it — everything you’re feeling, the good, the bad, the courage, the anxiety — it is all okay. You are human and you are trying your best so be kind to yourself. I tell my clients often to think about their self-talk. If you’re in the middle of a soccer game and you’re getting exhausted, do you want your teammates and fans yelling at you, judging you, or shaming you? Of course not. You want encouragement. Some people prefer direct advice and tough love from the sidelines, while others want gentle and affectionate soothing words, but all people need to feel encouraged because we need connection and a belief in ourselves in order to overcome challenges. That encouragement can come from your own inner voice. Your self-talk, when you’re struggling, should sound like the kind of encouragement you most like to hear in order to feel connected and to believe in yourself. Mine sounds direct like this: “I’ve got this. I can handle this. This situation/this feeling is temporary. I can do hard things.” What does yours need to sound like? Start practicing it with yourself, and while you’re at it you can practice on your loved ones, too.

You’ve got this. You can handle this. You can do hard things. You already possess all the strength and courage that you need in order to manage your anxiety through this awful time; with practice, patience, and self-compassion, you can feel better.  And support is here if you need it — therapy is a great way to connect with your inner resources when going through a challenging time.