Feeling desire, feeling alive

“I want to understand her… I’m afraid of losing her.” Relationship issues commonly arise in therapy. The scenario goes something like this: a young man comes into therapy sharing desperate distress arising from his relationship. He describes feeling alternately connected and disconnected from his girlfriend, and he is confused about the disconnection. He talks about feeling an intimacy with her that was unlike any other he’d experienced; however, those moments of emotional intimacy quickly dissipate when he felt her suddenly withdraw from him. Whenever she withdraws, he feels abandoned and subsequently absents himself from her. He does not understand her behavior and feels he is on an emotional rollercoaster. He says that he never quite feels that their relationship is on stable ground.

Couples work typically raises questions about communication, about how expectations and needs are being articulated in the relationship, and about the fundamental assumptions each person makes about the other—assumptions that often are not questioned, assumptions that create barriers to meaningful intimacy. All reasonable issues. However, I am also aware of the powerful desire for erotic and emotional intimacy that is being expressed. And yet, equally powerful anxiety about desire is being expressed at the same time. In these moments, I often wonder if the girlfriend was experiencing similar desire and anxiety. It often appears so. Indeed, desire and anxiety create conflict which then shapes many relationships.

Desire is fundamental to being human. We all experience desire, and our desires have many objects. We constantly live with desire. Desire is our growing edge; as such, desire often destabilizes us, particularly as we reach for that which we want. Desire is often erotic, and our experience of erotic desire for one another is probably the most challenging for us; it exposes us as people with needs. We often feel vulnerable when we feel desire. Hence the anxiety that arises when we feel powerful desires. And when we desire something that would appear to be forbidden, our experience of anxiety is likely to be amplified. Indeed, we are often NOT comfortable with our desires. And we are not comfortable feeling vulnerable. So, we defend against our desires—both consciously and unconsciously.

The desire for erotic and emotional intimacy is an experience most of us feel deeply. We desire to be known by another person, and yet we fear being known fully. We desire a sense of connection, and yet we fear connection and often withdraw from it. Intimacy asks us to be vulnerable—to be open to the unknown, to be open to the possible. Intimacy asks that we give up some of our defenses, our need for control and learn instead to risk being vulnerable and share control.

The dynamics of any human relationship are complex, especially our most intimate relationships. Most of us enter relationships with preconceived notions about how relationships are supposed to work. We carry the baggage of our past relationships into the present; for better or worse, our past relational experiences impact how we approach our present relationships. But more important, we also bring our desires (and anxieties) into the relationship.

Over the years, it’s become clear to me that being able to identify one’s desires, understand them, accept them and manage them are keys to healthy relationships and healthy living. Psychotherapy is, of course, known for helping people deal with their anxieties, but it is not as well known for its ability to help people live with their desires. This is unfortunate because that is what psychotherapy is really all about! (One of Freud's most important insights centered on his understanding that fears are really wishes--desires that have been repressed.) Getting in touch with, understanding, and accepting one’s desire(s) is one of the most life-giving, life-affirming aspects of psychotherapy. Learning to be vulnerable, take risks, and take responsibility for one's desire is similarly life-giving.

Indeed, to feel desire is to feel alive.

Bad News

It’s been a week of bad news. A woman with newly diagnosed lung cancer. A man who learned that the Interferon treatment for Hepatitis is not working and will be discontinued. A man who was turned down for a much-needed job and is starting the job search process all over again, after having been unemployed for nine months. A woman who learned that she is losing her job. A man who’s wife decided to leave him. A man whose parents were suddenly killed in a car accident in the Mid-West.

Each of these people is experiencing unspeakable pain: loss, threat of death, anxiety, loneliness, a new awareness that the future is limited, angry helplessness, a sense that “I’m not in control anymore.”

I’m often asked, “what do you say when someone shares bad news with you?” Indeed, what do I say to someone in enormous pain? What does anyone say?

I think that the question is a bit misdirected and signals a helpless anxiety many of us experience when we are faced with painful life events. But are we being asked to say or do anything?

Most of us, when hearing the bad news another is sharing, feel an impulse to rescue, to somehow find the words that will make the teller (and the listener) feel better, or to make the situation better. The impulse is a very human one, and is understandable: we identify with the other person and sympathize with their feelings. We feel helpless ourselves and finding a means for “making it better” enables us to feel less helpless and, by extension, less anxious. And while we may end up feeling better, the other person is often left with the painful feelings.

What, in fact, is being asked of us?

When people share their bad news with us, they usually are not asking us to solve their problem, or even to make the pain go away. On a fundamental level, they know that what they are facing is not a problem to be solved but a life event that must be gone through. They want to know and feel that they are connected and are valued; they want to know and feel that they matter, that their lives and their experiences have meaning—even though the meaning may not be clear and may never be clear. They want to be seen, and they want their stories to be heard.

And so, when people share their experiences of pain and uncertainty, I think that they are asking us to simply be with them. We are being asked to listen, to bear witness to the unexpected in their lives. We are being asked to hold them—sometimes in the physical sense, but more often in a figurative sense: we are being asked to be with them as they feel their feelings. We are being asked to have a relationship with them that can expand to include the unknown. We are being asked to intimacy. (A very dear Buddhist friend recently reminded me that “Not knowing IS intimacy.)

Not everyone can tolerate intimacy. Not everyone can tolerate not knowing. Not everyone can listen without rescuing the other from their pain. In fact, most people can’t. But listening in a deeply intimate way—one that does not provide answers but that invites exploration that may lead to answers—is the essence of psychotherapy. It involves meeting you in the intimate place of not knowing—of not having an answer—and being willing to help you live into that space so that meaning—and even hope—may be created. Psychotherapy can provide the space where painful feelings can be felt—without judgment, without changing them, without “making them go away.” Eventually, psychotherapy may help you come to terms with the bad news and the feelings that arise.

Sometimes there are no comforting words. But there can always be a comforting presence. Bad news reminds us that we need each other, that we need relationships. And while our presence won’t prevent bad things from happening, it can certainly help those we care about move through them. Our presence is all that is asked.