To thine own self be true, and it must follow, as the night the day, thou canst not be false to any man. ~ Polonius, Hamlet, Act I, Scene III
I got hooked on Hamlet as a teenager, drawn in by the idea of a young man conspiring with the ghost of his father to expose the truth of his murder. As a son whose father has died, I can relate to Hamlet far more now than ever before, but that's a subject for another post.
This morning I'm thinking about the advice given by Polonius to his son, Laertes, who is about to depart for France. On the face of it, Polonius sounds like a father preparing his son to relate to the world as an adult, and concludes his speech with the famous quote above. In point of fact, he reveals that throughout life, he has been true only to himself, and as a result, being false to any and everyone, when the occasion required it, has been easy. You might say he has been authentically inauthentic and he doesn't even know it.
I'm mentioning this because researchers at Ohio State University have been conducting a study among heterosexual couples examining the role of dispositional authenticity -- the proclivity for being true to one's sense of self -- in romantic relationships. It appears that individuals who are self-aware, and who live up to what they know of themselves, behave in ways that are more intimate and less destructive with respect to their partners.
My father would not have been surprised. He used to say waiting until you're involved with someone to begin the process of self-discovery is like repairing the fence after the cattle have wandered through. "You can't very well figure someone else out, if you haven't figured yourself out first." As obvious as this sounds, it's very revealing when you think about some relationships.
Being true to oneself implies the presence of a self to begin with. At the very least, this refers to a stable and enduring core enabling one to grow, contribute to the well-being of others, and cope with loss and frustration. Among individuals who employ a "false self" as compensation for insecurity, or who rely on a contrivance that has little or no basis in reality, dispositional authenticity is compromised. Like Polonius, their expression of self is situation-dependent and who they truly are, from moment to moment, is uncertain.
For partners who are accustomed to being honest with and about themselves, interacting with the dispositionally inauthentic is perplexing and sometimes, downright crazy-making. Consistency is important, especially where intimacy is concerned, and it helps immensely to be able to interact with someone who is "always home." When your partner's identity is as variable as spring weather in Maine and they are unwilling or unable to examine themselves to find out why, the whole concept of being in relationship is called into question.
(P.S. Thanks, everyone, for your patience yesterday, I appreciate it.)
Dear Readers:
I have to beg your indulgence today -- whether it's the medications I'm taking, the virus I've got, or a combination of the two, my brain cells are absolutely in rebellion. I just can't seem to put a noun and verb together today to save my life. If you'll accept my apology, I promise tomorrow I'll be better, back in the saddle, with something I hope is worth reading. In the meantime, have a good evening and stay well.
Thanks so much,
Beggar
Thinking about the roles we adopt in relationships, one I've never really been comfortable with is that of a fantasy lover, an idealized version of some long-gone Mr. Might-Have-Been or worse yet, a father figure. I've got too many warts -- blatant evidence of my card-carrying membership in the human race -- to be anything but real. Besides, there are too many unspoken expectations associated with being a fantasy, it's too much to live up to. I have a hard enough time just being me, most days.
This is not to say there's no appeal in being imagined as perfect. The problem comes about when something like this cold turns me into a hacking, draining, dribbling mass of gunk only my dog can tolerate. I hate getting sick, I'm a lousy patient, and all the coughing renders my normally sexy baritone a rasping imitation of the frogs that proliferate in the forest this time of year. Sexy -- see? I even approximate delusional when I'm feeling lousy.
The rest of the time I'll take the truth any day of the week and twice on Sunday. What I mean is, I prefer being with people who wouldn't know entitled from the end title sequence of a movie. They might deserve special treatment but they'd turn it down if it was offered. More interested in accepting than being accepted, they consider appearances as meaningless. They'd be "forever in blue jeans" if the alternative meant disingenuity.
It's okay for a while, reflecting a projection you've been handed like canapes on a party tray, but sooner or later a person wants to be seen for who they are. I think sooner is better, though it doesn't always work out that way. Sometimes you have to wait until the projection breaks down like a worn-out car on the highway. Once that happens, if there was anything real in the relationship to begin with, it will survive the shock. If not, well, there's always fantasy, but that has its liabilities, like this croaking cold. Pardon me while I go blow my nose -- again.
(Creative Commons image by purplemattfish via Flickr;
Forever in Blue Jeans by
Neil Diamond)
An antibiotic won't help at this point, not even if our mothers said it would. Most upper respiratory infections (like the one I presently have) are caused by a virus, not a bacterium. As a matter of fact, indiscriminate use of antibiotics is one of the reasons for the existence of antibiotic-resistant bacteria. We've inadvertently trained these guys to survive in the presence of medications intended to kill them. It's like a scenario straight out of a 1950s science fiction film.
To paraphrase Jimmy Buffet, it's my own darned fault. I've got a little carpal tunnel syndrome working in my right hand and I've been wearing a wrist stabilizer to decrease stress on the median nerve -- that's the one that gets compressed in carpal tunnel. So, because it's a pain to take the stabilizer off to wash my hands, I've kind of cheated a bit lately, and probably rubbed my eyes or some such thing and infected myself.
As a consequence of being lazy, I get to feel crummy off and on -- another sign this is viral and not bacterial. And since it's an upper respiratory tract infection, I not only get to practice coughing, but also my nose-blowing skills. For the most part, an over-the-counter antihistamine has been fine to keep me breathing. Last night, however, the mucous cells in my nasal passages went into overtime and breathing while lying down was impossible. In desperation, I took a nighttime cold remedy that had a little bit of pseudophedrine in it as a decongestant. That's how this post almost got written at 3.00 in the morning.
Since I've managed to stay well for the past couple of years, I'd forgotten that pseudophredrine may cause drowsiness or excitability, depending on the person who takes it. Me, I get wired. So, there I was, baking brownies and wondering who of my friends was on-call somewhere, also wishing they could sleep. But at least I was breathing for a change.
This morning, a trip to the store has added nasal spray to the mix and I'm more or less functional. If this lasts another ten days, it's probably got a bacterial component and I can get a script, but I'm hoping for recovery before then. As for dance class, I think I'll sit this one out tonight. Dancing with the stars is one thing, dancing with a Petri Dish for a partner is quite another.
(Creative Commons image of common cold virus via Wikipedia)
When talking about narcissism and relationships, one question that almost
always comes up is, what kind of person would choose to become involved
with a narcissist? This is a sensitive subject; no one wants to come off as critical or blaming, yet it's a question that needs to be broached, if for no other reason than the fact that former significant
others ask it of themselves. What was I thinking, how could I have been so naive, so blind.
To begin with, those who've been in these so-called "relationships"
were looking for, and honestly thought they'd found, someone who was genuinely caring. It's terribly difficult to admit to yourself -- much less anyone else
-- that the woman or man of your dreams is really a nightmare. It's also true that
partners usually aren't dragged, kicking and screaming, into hooking up with a narcissist. There is the aspect of being an
accomplice that must be addressed. That said, I don't believe someone who gets involved with one of these individuals necessarily does so with conscious
intention. Unconscious motivation can be a powerful underlying factor in one's choice of romantic partners.
Narcissists
are smooth. In the early stages of a relationship, it's nearly impossible to conceive they could be fraudulent. They're too
considerate, attentive, supportive, and affectionate. They appear utterly smitten, unable to get enough of us. It was love at
first sight and they make the most of every opportunity to remind us of it.
The narcissist's regularly repeated declarations of affection, however, are what is called "love-bombing." It's one of many techniques employed by narcissists to weaken and break down a potential partner's defenses, rendering them emotionally receptive. Before we know it,
they're talking about moving in, sharing an apartment, getting married and having children. Our
family loves them, our friends love them; we're living a veritable fairy
tale. Until Sleeping Beauty starts to awaken, that is.
Interpersonal
psychology suggests partners of narcissists are inclined to have
dependent or masochistic personality traits. Either because they prefer
relationships to being single or because they possesses an
unusually high tolerance for emotional pain, they don't tend to
make waves when they're unhappy. Instead, usually out of a sense of
loyalty, they excuse
their partner's behavior, even when others
find it troubling. As long as a partner is relatively comfortable
mirroring the narcissist's imagined superiority or insistence they've been
ignored, overlooked, and misunderstood, things go fairly well. But there is nearly always some sort of verbal or
emotional abuse that goes along with preserving the relationship. Safety and security come at a high price.
Partners are convenient targets for the
arrogant narcissist's (what we usually think of when we hear the term
"narcissist") verbal or physical
abuse when they feel embarrassed, slighted, or has failed to receive the respect and admiration to which they feel entitled. Covert narcissists, in contrast, rely on complicated, carefully planned and
executed strategies of manipulation to control others. Under severe stress, they resort to passive-aggression as their normally sweet, harmless demeanor disappears and the pent-up rage we rarely see begins surfacing.
As a result, they can be as unpredictable and unsafe as their arrogant
counterparts. When partners have finally been drained of their usefulness, they're often surprised to discover the narcissist has already chosen their replacement and has them waiting in reserve.
While
not always true, partners of narcissists have generally been
trained well. One or both parents possess narcissistic traits and thus, unconsciously identifying similar individuals for intimate
relationships is second nature. Recreating the atmosphere in which a
person grew up feels familiar. I've
heard it said, "I can find a narcissistic predator in a room filled with good women
with my eyes closed. It's like my radar is tuned their frequency." Masochism, in the interpersonal sense, doesn't refer to the enjoyment of suffering or pain; it simply means we've learned from parents that abuse is
to be endured as part of the relationship landscape.
None
of this is meant to hint that partners are somehow
psychologically flawed. On the contrary, they possess considerable psychological strength, as demonstrated by
their ability to survive a great deal that is truly unnecessary. Unmasking the qualities
that render a person vulnerable to "narcissistic possession" is
critical
to recapturing one's feelings of self-worth and reinforcing the ability
to protect oneself, emotionally, in the future. Failure to do so only
increases the likelihood that
having been hurt by a narcissist once, we may be hurt again, and that's something
truly worth avoiding.
(Creative Commons image by Riccardo Cuppini via Flickr)
I have a friend who will, by the end of this day, have completed her last day of medical school. Admittedly, I may have several friends in the same boat, but since she is the only one who's schedule I know with certainty, she gets the spotlight. If any others are reading this and today is also yours, don't hesitate to take a bow, you've earned it. What sets my friend apart is the fact that, in another world, she would have graduated last year.
I've mentioned, on several occasions, how we begin medical school with one set of expectations and proceed to adjust them as we go. One may become a teaching fellow or do research for a couple of terms. Academic or personal problems may interfere with our progress and we need an additional year to complete our studies. I lost a semester this past fall but gained a published book in exchange -- it was, as Wind in His Hair from Dances with Wolves would say, a "good trade."
The upshot of making adjustments in our time line is, the process we began in community, we sometimes complete individually. The identity established as a member of an incoming class is altered by circumstances, resulting sometimes, in a feeling of displacement. Like Nemo, who was snatched away from father and home and thrust into an alien environment, we have to learn to adapt. But this is not a bad thing, because in the real world of medical practice, adaptation is our daily bread.
When it seems like the rest of your class is passing you by -- and let's not sugarcoat it, they have in a real sense -- it's easy to start ruminating over all the "What ifs." That, however, only gets a person into a rut and as the Sunday School director in my first pastorate was fond of saying, "A rut is nothing more than a grave with both ends kicked out."
Medical school, like many things in life, is a head game and if we can envision our experience of it as maturing, we're closer to the truth, because that's precisely what it is. I don't mean changing our thinking to render external reality more palatable, I mean recognizing the intrinsic nature of the thing. Once we've done that, our approach to it becomes as individualized as the outcome. There is no right way, no wrong way, no better or worse way, there's only our way and if we hang tough, eventually, we'll find our way through.
(Creative Commons image of Finding Nemo by San Diego Shooter via Flickr)
About all he said was, "I'm seeing a patient for medication management and I'd like you to do some therapy with him. He's had some legal entanglements, but I don't think he'll try to hurt you. I'm eager to get your impressions."
My usual glad-to-be-of-help expression must have turned slightly pale because he quickly added, "Don't worry, if you get in trouble, just shout and we'll all come running."
Oh, that's very comforting, I thought, and just how am I supposed to do that with his hands around my neck? "Thanks, I'll be sure to call your name loudest," I said, irony dangling around the rim of my smile. They call this supervision?
Legal entanglements was putting it mildly. He had a record that went back to high school and was currently awaiting arraignment on charges of assault and battery. Of course, my patient said, it was all trumped up, he'd done nothing of the sort, and besides, the police didn't like him because he was Irish. I refrained from mentioning that, in Boston, being Irish could almost be considered a prerequisite for a position on the force.
Suggesting we assume for the moment, that the charges were genuine, I asked what might be the reason for them. He explained a fellow car salesman had cheated him out of a deal and then waved the contract in his face, daring him to do something about it. "I tried to reason with him," he said, "but he laughed and called me a coward. It was his own fault, he shouldn't have provoked me."
"So, you did assault him, is that right?"
"No, I didn't touch him," he replied, conspiratorially. "He stumbled and hit his face on a car. I was trying to help him when someone called the police. They said they saw me hit him, but they lied -- they were all in on it."
Later that afternoon, my supervisor informed me that my patient had been diagnosed with antisocial personality disorder. "He's sociopathic, has essentially little or no conscience, and refuses to accept responsibility for his actions. He's charming, narcissistic, and he'll have you believing the moon is made of green cheese if you're not careful." Over the coming months, our "therapy," if you want to call it that, involved a weekly recounting of the offenses other people had committed against him, thereby justifying any retribution he may have exacted. Our final session ended much like the first one had begun, with him denying he'd harmed his coworker in any way.
I never felt I was in danger, but neither did I ever feel completely comfortable. The normal feeling sense you get with another person was absent with him, as though he had little emotion to begin with. He denied having been abused as a child but when he talked about his parents, he might have been describing strangers. Working with him was a learning experience without question, and one that I'm generally disinclined to repeat. It was too much like trying to help someone who'd lost his humanity and had no interest in going to look for it.
