Monday, May 23, 2016
Memories Fade - Or Do They?
Yesterday after yoga class, I stopped by the grocery store to pick up a few things for my lunches this week. As I was checking out, I saw a woman in the next line. When she turned around, I saw that this woman was someone who had been my very good friend before my divorce. My divorce changed all of that. Not only did this woman cut me out of her life, she also told my former spouse some very personal things that I had shared with her while my marriage was dissolving. Those things were nothing that would create any sort of legal issue during my divorce, they were simply not things I wanted shared - they were intensely personal, and my former spouse used the fact that he knew about them to demonstrate to me how isolated my divorce was going to make me. It's funny, I can't remember what I told her, other than the effect of the disclosure. What I do remember, and what came flooding back to me in a rush at the grocery store yesterday, was the feeling of betrayal. I understand that when people divorce, friends fall away for a lot of reasons. Very few of them, especially those who you hold closest, affirmatively act to hurt you. The details fall away, but the pain remains.
But only the pain remains, and only when I was exposed to a direct stimulus. I think that makes me healthy. It means I've moved on. I wish I could say the same for all my clients. Some of them never move on. They relive the hurts of their marriage every day in great detail. They weigh the injury. They remember all the details. They can't forget. No, I take that back: they won't forget. These folks either don't go to therapy or they don't invest in their therapy. Their lives are given meaning by the pain they've endured. Their self worth is tied to how much they were wronged. The pain I felt in the five minutes in the grocery store? They feel it all the time. I don't know how they stand it. I can't help them make the pain go away and move on, because they don't want to. Truth be told, having these clients is the hardest part of what I do. Here in the Trenches.
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