REMEMBERING 9/11: Four Stories

On the 10th anniversary of the unimaginable, four members of the CPPNJ community -- Sally Rudoy, Martin A. Silverman, Lillian Shaw and Eric Sherman -- share their memories of the day that changed us all, personally and professionally. We welcome your comments, including your own 9/11 reflections.

A Day, At First, So Ordinary
by Eric Sherman

The thing I remember most -- besides the images of people jumping to their deaths -- is the smell.

A stench that hung over lower Manhattan, reaching the Greenwich Village neighborhood of my New York office. It smelled like burning rubber. Everyone knew what it was, even if we didn't want to acknowledge it. The odor carried the charred remains of the World Trade Center and -- most horrifying -- the people who had perished inside.

I had loved my office because of its giant windows and sweeping view of lower Manhattan. The regal Woolworth Building and the Twin Towers in the distance. On bright days, like the morning of September 11, 2001, I kept the blinds closed. The sun would have been too distracting.

At 8:48 am, as the unthinkable happened beyond my giant windows, I was in session with the same patient I saw every Tuesday morning. What stands out for me is this -- we heard nothing, we saw nothing, we knew nothing. The session went on like any other. How could I ever trust the ordinary again?

When the session was over, I bumped into my suitemate in the men's room. "Did you hear?" he asked excitedly. "A plane just flew into the World Trade Center."

I rushed back to my office and peaked through the blinds. I saw clouds of smoke billowing from what I assumed was one of the towers. I had no way of knowing that both buildings had been hit. I assumed a Cessna or other small plane had gone off course and accidentally struck the tower. I wanted to keep looking at the scene, but I had no time. I was off to teach my first post-graduate class ever, and I was nervous as hell. So I closed the blinds to the last view I would ever have of the World Trade Center and rushed to the subway. The towers crumbled while I was underground.

My first inkling that something frightening had happened was when the train I was in, trapped in a tunnel for 20 minutes, finally pulled into the Columbus Circle station and Transit Authority personnel ran on with bullhorns shouting that the station was being evacuated. A New Yorker from birth, I was concerned, but not terribly phased. Perhaps I would have an interesting story to tell the candidates when I began class moments later.

There would be no class that day, and no return to normalcy for some time. As I walked the 2-1/2 miles back to my office wondering how I would get home (the subway and New Jersey Transit were no longer running and Manhattan had been sealed off), my mind raced. Didn't one of my patients work in the Towers? The thought that he might be dead chilled me. (He had in fact been at his desk when the second building lurched forward upon the plane's impact. When I spoke with him that evening, he was fine, though quite shaken. So was I.)

The weeks after 9/11 were surreal. At first, I needed to show a photo ID to get past the police barriers on the corner of my office building. I kept the blinds closed tight, occasionally peeking out at the sight of the giant gray cloud engulfing what used to be the World Trade Center. I could only look for a few seconds at a time. The scene disturbed me too much.

My office -- the world -- no longer seemed safe. My patients and I -- the city, the country, the world -- were in a state of trauma, and there was no escaping it. The ever-present stench. The bomb-sniffing German Shepherds and National Guard officers with giant rifles at every train station. The terror that it could happen again at any moment.

Seeing patients in the days after 9/11 was both life-affirming and traumatizing. As much as I wished to work through what had happened and be present for my shell-shocked clients, at times I had the desire to shut down and forget. I kept the blinds closed tight in my office partly so that I could pretend that when I opened them again, there would be the World Trade Center, gleaming in the sun.

But there was little opportunity for denial. Session after session my patients relayed the horrors of that day and the anguish they were going through. I tried to help them sort out their feelings even when, occasionally, I wanted to scream: "Stop, please! I can't hear anymore." Instead I listened, shared my own experience when helpful, and cried with each one. Together we healed.

I have since moved my office to another part of the Village. It's on the ground floor overlooking a courtyard. There are no tall windows with views of the downtown skyline, no need to shut the blinds. Each morning that I commute to my New York office, I walk by the now-closed St. Vincent's Hospital, where many of the victims of 9/11 were rushed. The emergency room that served as a chaotic triage center is bordered up and ghost-like. Perhaps it is fitting. It is also terribly sad.

At some point this September 11, I will watch as much TV coverage as I can stomach. I will pause to think about trauma and bravery, finding meaning in what seems too much to bear. It is what I do every day as a psychotherapist. It is what gives life purpose.



First Responders
by Sally Rudoy

One memory I have of 9/11 and the few days in the aftermath was a feeling of wanting to be useful – to do something to help others. Somehow providing succor to others’ fear and shock would mitigate my own. I wanted to run toward Ground Zero, not away.

I heard from a colleague of mine that the next day there would be a coordinating meeting in the High School library. The board of education had put out a call for therapists in the community who would be willing to volunteer time to counsel traumatized students. When I arrived at the meeting in the library, it was standing room only. Around every table, packed against the book carrels, and perched along the length of the check out desk were psychotherapists of every discipline. Clearly, I was not alone in my need to do something: to make order out of chaos, return the world, now forever changed, back to its pre-9/11 predictability.

Somehow I thought this impulse to run toward disaster might be unique to those in the “helping” and first responder professions. However, as I counseled students and patients throughout the weeks following, I heard echoes of the same impulses. Teenagers wanted to go to lower Manhattan and help dig in the rubble, make casseroles for the families who lost parents, or sign-up for military service and go get the guys who “did this to us.” Younger children wanted to raise money or hold a bake sale for…for…for somebody, for something.

Early psychoanalysts discovered the phenomenon of the mind’s use of defense mechanisms to protect the self from disturbing thoughts, feelings and behavior. In those early days after 9/11, enveloped as I was in the same trauma as the ones I sought to help, I began to recognize a universal defense of keeping helplessness at bay by helping others. On the face of it, this seemed adaptive and a testament to the resiliency of the human spirit. Now, from the perspective of the tenth anniversary of 9/11, I also see my response as more nuanced. The person most helped by my actions in those dark days was myself.


PTSD Hits Too Close to Home
by Martin A. Silverman

Our daughter, 2000 miles way, called us that morning to tell us that an airplane had crashed into the WTC. We turned on the TV and watched the second plane hit the other tower and the two towers collapse to the ground. A few hours later, a woman called me and asked me to see her son, who was very upset about the incident, which he too had watched on TV. I helped her son deal with his agitation and distress -- and I helped HER to deal with it as she was even more upset than he was. I saw them a few more times, but my main preoccupation, as president of the Association for Child Psychoanalysis at the time, was that of working together with heads of many other mental health organizations to help children and families across the country to deal with the emotional impact of that terrible occurence.
Exactly six months after the 9/11 terrorist attack on the WTC, on 3/11/2002, I had left my home office and was in my kitchen getting an apple, when I heard a roar that sounded like it was coming from the engine of something gigantic racing up my driveway. Then I heard an explosion and saw debris flying up into the air. I realized suddenly that what I saw were pieces of my house. A woman, in a huge SUV, with her children in the back seats, had started to use my driveway to make a k-turn. Then she lost control of her vehicle, raced up my driveway, plowed into my station wagon, crumpling it like an accordion, and pushed it into the back porch of my house, demolishing the steps outside the kitchen, sending the pillars holding the roof up over those steps flying into the air, and knocking a hole in the side of my house!
When I stepped outside, I found that it was that same woman who had come to me with her son after the World Trade Center attack half a year earlier. "I'm so sorry," she exclaimed; "I don't know what happened!" But I knew what had happened. She had returned to me, and to my dismay, had re-enacted, at my expense, what had upset her and her son so much on 9/11! I am glad to help children and their parents who are emotionally distressed, but this clearly was over and beyond the call of duty, don't you agree?


September 11, 2001, Ten Years Later
by Lillian Shaw

The morning of September 11, 2001 dawned easily with the bright sun in place, a warm and welcome visitor, cool breezes, and billowy clouds dotting the sky-scape. As I walked into the day room of the hospital where I worked, to gather together ten patients for their ongoing twice-a-week therapeutic group, the television was on and the New York panorama looked crisp and bright.

“We will have our group now” I told the patients. It was 9:15 AM. The patients were accustomed to joining together and talking about their illness, themselves, their struggles and even current events. Especially loved was the topic of the baseball playoffs, and the World Series, set to begin in September, 2001. Groups, I had told them, allow you to change. You sit together and come to understand your thoughts and behaviors, responses and reactions to others, and theirs to you. You learn about yourself, in a group. Nothing could be truer for the close-knit September 11 terrorists, who planned their activities well, and were self-supporting, and increased their functioning and resolve, through their network.

One patient moved quickly into my personal space, and said “Did you see? Look at the TV”. I looked and saw the instant-replay of a plane smashing into the World Trade Center tower. The announcer was saying something about a plane off course. It was quiet in the room. I stood there and saw the replay three times in quick succession. Inside I felt as if raw nerves were being hacked, producing feelings of numb, and helpless abandon. Vulnerable and overwhelmed America, I thought, already had experienced atrocities resulting from the Achille Lauro, the Gulf War, the Unabomber, Oklahoma City, Atlanta Summer Olympics, the USS COLE, and others, and I felt the pull. The Twin Towers were icons, and all the people who would die that day had left home in the morning never to return. I had never been in either Tower, or navigated to the top.

After the group, I went back to the day room and watched the replay of the second plane hitting Tower two. America’s blood, tears and tissues were being poured onto New York’s pavement, I thought. And then came the horrible, terrible stories of untimely death, unasked-for and unsought bravery, and running to escape, running to save self and to save others, running for your life. The Tunnel-Run race honors Stephen Stiller’s brave run through the Battery Tunnel with 75 pounds of fire gear on his back, to help. And we watched heroes live, and we heard of heroes dying.

A socials worker on the next unit left the building in tears. Her father worked in the World Trade Center and she could not get him on his cell phone. My son Tom was out of work and had several interviews the previous week in the WTC section of the city. Does he have any meetings scheduled today, I thought? The cell phone was dead as I tried to call. No cell tower transmission, I was told. I later found out that Tom had no interviews that day and that he and my nephew Ted, each living in Hoboken, had met at the fence surrounding a waterfront park, after the first impact. They saw the second plane hit, and heard the whoosh of the fire as it enraged into a red and orange ball, and witnessed the changing of the New York harbor line, and our secure feelings, our concept of freedom, and many lives, forever, in a quick few seconds.

Then the towers came down, and New York looked like a ghost town in black and white, as the world was riveted to the television. The firemen, police, ambulance workers, hospital workers and nearby workers, all pitched in and ran and helped, and we saw an unfolding of life in goodness. It was butted against evil. Mayor Giuliani was there and it felt terrifying

We heard about the crash of a plane into a field in Pennsylvania. More heroics and bravery from people who stood up, never thought of themselves, and wanted to save others and stop the terrorists’ attack. Todd Beamer’s “Let’s roll” has become a mantra for action-oriented goodness and Mark Bingham and Tom Burnett’s bravery, and that of others on flight 93, an inspiration. Then more desperate death. And you began to worry if we will ever understand the trauma of that day, the inconceivable and despicable acts of a few, and then war. The Lord’s Prayer and Psalm 23 were prayed on board, in those last minutes, and over the phone.

The rebuilding continues. Much the same as individuals rebuild lives after emotional illness, mental illness and physical illness, trauma and abuse, and it takes time. Our nation continues to build and grieve, and to know that life matters, our lives matter, and our freedom is worth fighting for.

Psychotherapy 101: A Who's Who In Mental Health

Thinking about seeing a therapist but confused about all the different titles? Psychiatrist, psychologist, psychoanalyst, psychopharmacologist, psychotherapist -- what a perplexing preponderance of "p-words!" So, as Richard Nixon used to say, let me make things perfectly clear. (Admittedly, Richard Nixon was not the best person to turn to on issues of mental health -- or clarity.) Here is a (remarkably incomplete) guide to the world of the mental health:

Psychotherapist -- This is an umbrella term for any professional who is trained to treat people for their emotional problems. Depending upon their academic degree, a psychotherapist can be a psychiatrist, psychologist, or social worker (among others), and work with individuals, couples, groups, or families.

Psychiatrist -- This person has a medical degree and, unlike most psychotherapists (with the exception of nurse practitioners), they can prescribe psychotropic (psychiatric) medication. Many psychiatrists -- referred to as psychopharmacologists -- provide only prescriptions and medication management; you would need to see a psychotherapist additionally for talk therapy. Traditional psychiatrists continue to practice psychotherapy, however.

Psychologist -- This person has a PhD in psychology. In addition to performing talk therapy, they have training in psychological testing (i.e., the Rorschach test, among others). They can also perform research protocols. (Psychologists who concentrate on research generally work in academic or research settings.) Some psychologists who are trained specifically to do clinical work (rather than research) have "PsyD" (Psychology Doctorate) as their academic degree, rather than PhD.

Social Worker -- When people hear "social worker," they think of professionals who provide social services in hospitals and agencies. However, some LCSWs (Licensed Clinical Social Workers) also practice psychotherapy. Their education is somewhat similar to that of a psychologist (although they may have a master's degree rather than a doctorate), but they are usually more attuned to the individual in their environment, and they do not provide psychological testing.

Psychoanalyst -- After receiving a professional degree, some psychotherapists go on to get extensive special training in this in-depth therapy modality that helps people get to the root of their problems. Psychoanalysis, as first invented by Sigmund Freud, is the only method that works with the unconscious -- motivations and defense mechanisms that are out of our awareness, and therefore cause us to repeat harmful patterns. The couch, free association, dream analysis, and transference (originally defined as the patient transferring his or her feelings toward their parents onto the analyst), are all exclusive tenets of psychoanalysis. The unfortunate stereotype of the silent therapist who only wants to talk about people's childhoods (rather unfairly) comes out of this model.

Today, many psychoanalysts are drawn to more contemporary models that build on, but also diverge from, Freud's original thinking. These therapists -- sometimes known as "relational analysts" -- are more active in the treatment and interested in people's current-day problems and how they are influenced by past experience. We look at how people interact with others in ways that only reinforce existing fears and patterns, and we look to create new experiences and ways of seeing oneself, including within the therapeutic relationship. Contrary to the stereotype, psychoanalysts sometimes do give advice and opinions, but we also do much more than that.

Traditionally, psychoanalytic patients came to sessions at least three times a week and lay on the couch. Today, many people in psychoanalytic (or psychodynamic) psychotherapy attend only once or twice a week. The couch is optional; some relational analysts never use it at all. Psychoanalysis differs from other forms of psychotherapy (like cognitive-behavioral therapy) in that it is more comprehensive and emphasizes getting to the bottom of problems, rather than simply alleviating symptoms.

The Monogamous Marriage and What To Do About It

A recent article, “Married with Infidelities,” by Mark Oppenheimer was published in the New York Times a couple weeks ago. And yet, many people are still talking about it! Don’t know if you’ve had a chance to read it, but it seems to have triggered significant feelings about monogamous relationships, here’s the link: http://www.nytimes.com/2011/07/03/magazine/infidelity-will-keep-us-together.html. The author interviews Dan Savage, a pop writer whose column is entitled “Savage Love”. Savage began his column years ago helping folks learn how to cope with their sexual proclivities, and now attempts to help people with their love lives.

The article makes the point that we often assume that monogamous relationships must remain so and suggests that couples who are open about infidelities they may have happier marriages. I think if he is talking about saving peoples individual sex lives, this might make sense. But it doesn’t sound like a remedy to help one’s, or the couple's love life. Savage suggests that there are couples, or one part of a couple, who need more than one partner or periodic extra-relationship sexual experiences. This is called an open marriage. It’s been around for quite a while, perhaps saving many marriages.

Though there are some folks who want to be able to desire and be desired by their partner with whom they have a commitment and many years invested in each other. Some are skeptical about this being a real possibility in a long-term relationship. Long-term monogamous relationships can get stale and perhaps boring and can begin to feel restrictive and limiting to one or both partners. These feelings can translate into thoughts about remedies. An obvious and easy one is to have a fling or two, but the problem may remain. Trying to avoid those feelings of limitation is a missed opportunity to create something new and satisfying.

An interesting point that arises from the article is the emerging need in our society for a “quick fix”. There are tons of claims to have the right formula for being thin, wealthy, more attractive, you name it, someone can tell you how to do it. Treating individuals and couples with issues around intimacy and sex is not necessarily formulaic; each person has a different set of histories and life experiences. And we know that people’s sex lives are directly related to their love lives and vice versa. Therapy helps people understand themselves and their uniqueness so they can make difficult life-choices that work for them.

Psychoanalytically and attachment informed couple’s therapy helps people experience uncomfortable feelings and more importantly expands their ability to make use of them. Being bored in a relationship can mean a whole host of things about each person and the couple that may be remedied by using each other in the service of extinguishing boredom without involving an extra-relationship fling. All relationships and individuals in relationship change over time. Desire can wax and wane in long-term relationships as can love. Finding the ability to be vulnerable with each other and recognize each other’s (and one’s own) needs and limitations actually produces growth. Each part of the couple can find within themselves some part that meets the needs of the other and themselves without having to substitute.

The suggested solution for couples to avoid feeling bored in a long-term monogamous relationship by having affairs “above board” is one way to avoid feeling the loss that inevitably comes with choosing one thing over another. Another way of dealing with that loss is to face it head on, be honest about it with themselves and the one’s they’ve committed to and find ways to deepen and enjoy their experience of being human, with all its limitations and flaws.

What we can learn from Betty Ford

By Eric Sherman, LCSW

With her death at 93, Betty Ford leaves behind a legacy of grace and courage that can be a lesson for us all.

Her ability to overcome cancer, depression, and, addiction -- and to turn these personal struggles into a public commitment to help others -- is nothing short of inspirational. Few of us will ever be thrust into the public spotlight the way the former First Lady was, but there is much we can learn from her unflinching honesty in struggling with, and ultimately overcoming, adversity.

Mrs. Ford became a role model when, in 1974, she underwent a radical mastectomy for breast cancer. She used the opportunity to speak openly about her experience at a time when such a topic was taboo. As a result, tens of thousands of women sought out breast exams in the months after her surgery, undoubtedly saving many lives.

But she is best known for her decades-long battle with addiction to alcohol and painkillers, a problem that began in the 1960s.

"From the outside, (my) life looked like a Norman Rockwell illustration," she said at one point. But despite her seeming fairytale life and public outspokenness, privately she harbored debilitating feelings of loneliness, self-doubt and shame. She questioned her intelligence, and began to feel useless and empty as her children left the house and her husband became more successful in his career, and later was defeated for reelection. "I'd lost my feeling of self-worth."

Like many others, she turned to alcohol and painkillers to numb her insecurities. The more she drank to escape her self doubts, the more they intensified -- a spiral well known by many addicts, as well as to others who suffer from insecurities that seem too overwhelming to combat.

"Now I know that some of the pain I was trying to wipe out was emotional," she wrote in her autobiography, "Betty: A Glad Awakening." "I was convinced that the more important Jerry (her husband) became, the less important I became."

Ultimately, after a painful family intervention, she chose to face her problems by entering rehab, a decision that would forever change her life and sense of self.

These days, public figures entering rehab are about as common as humidity on a summer day, but at the time to go public about one's battles with personal demons was largely unheard of. Mrs. Ford did more than just gain and maintain her sobriety. She found a sense of purpose by using her experience and influence to found the non-profit Betty Ford Center, a rehab facility, and to speak openly about her struggles.

Hers is both a cautionary and inspirational tale about the corrosive nature of self-doubt and what it takes to overcome it. Low self-esteem leads to anxiety, depression and, often, avoidance. Overwhelmed, many people turn to substances, sex, food, shopping and other obsessive-compulsive behaviors to fill the emptiness within. This may work temporarily, but soon leads to greater shame. Some, like Mrs. Ford, put on a brave face and keep their pain a secret. Others retreat from family and friends, while some wield their insecurity as a weapon, proclaiming their victimhood as loudly as possible in a misguided attempt to be rescued. Unfortunately, they end up feeling all the more isolated, fraudulent and hopeless.

Until these patterns can be addressed, they are likely to intensify. Ironically, in the midst of such shame and despair, the person may need to find whatever hope and strength they can muster to risk looking at their problems, often through therapy. I say risk because the process is uncertain and at times can be painful -- the very feelings the person is trying to avoid. But facing our shame and fears can not only detoxify them, it could make us feel stronger and more confident. Therapy can help us find our voice and a sense of purpose.

That is the legacy of Betty Ford -- a woman who found a way to use her triumph over pain to not only find personal meaning, but to help others in their struggles as well.

-- Eric Sherman, LCSW

Presence: Meditating On The Gift That Keeps On Giving

By Mitchell Milch, LCSW

Meditation is perhaps the most important “best practice” I employ each day in the service of warming my self up so I can develop, apply, and identify obstacles to being present in an emotionally intelligent manner. I’m defining emotional intelligence as a measure of one’s facility to apply experiential learning to understanding and accurately predicting one’s influence on the outcome of new situations. I label meditation a “best practice” because it is a quality control measure in the same way a chef will codify cooking processes to ensure that the quality of dishes are consistently maintained. My use of meditation is the psychological equivalent of a ballet dancer rehearsing movements on the barre to stimulate his muscle memory or a tennis player volleying before a match to hone the timing and rhythm of his hand-eye coordination. It’s about finding an optimal level of emotional arousal conducive to the effective employment and coordination of our experiential and observing selves. On a neuro-physiological level this translates to the maximal recruitment and coordination of the left and right hemispheres of the brain.

Meditation anchors us in the present. It’s a mindful orientation to a bodily awareness. We drop anchor in the present moment by slowing and deepening our breathing. Our bodies are integral parts of our information storage and retrieval systems. We may liken our brains as coordinated and interactive multi-processor networks. Our stored intelligence is dispersed throughout our bodies. I have borrowed many times from a colleague of mine who might ask a patient: “If your stomach could speak right now what tale might it tell?”

The wisdom of “reliable“ intuition is distilled from thoughtful investigations into what we learn from trial and error and how we apply these lessons to more accurately predict and influence future outcomes. I place reliable in quotation marks because as a case in point, the unconscious intuitive false alarms of a traumatized brain are easily tripped by unreliable and invalid innocuous stimuli. The onset and impact of such stimuli may be as random and unpredictable as the fluctuations of the stock market. An intuitive “gut feel” that can be relied on must be applied to events that cohere in some logical fashion. Such intuition is the direct consequence of processed experiences resulting in the ever expanding growth of anatomical structures supporting the increase of ever sophisticated decision trees. We stretch our knowledge by discriminating and making sense of sometimes minute anomalies in patterned behaviors. Let’s call this the evolution of best tailored practices. As a former supervisor once pointed out to me, the “right feel” on how to engage a patient in a timely manner may not be understood on a cognitive level until it’s too late. If you’ve ever been tested by a patient on his way out the door with the alliance hanging in the balance, you know exactly what I’m talking about. It’s a matter of now or never in terms of accessing the correct response. One is operating strictly from what feels like the right thing to do or say. There’s no time to make cognitive sense of this pivotal moment.

What slow, deep breathing does is to open us up psychologically speaking as permeable interpretive containers of bounded space. To anchor one’s self in the moment is to set the conditions for being a sensitive tuning fork to a patient’s multi-leveled communications. Some of us call this meditative state the empty brain- open heart consciousness of being. Others prefer such conventional Freudian terms as “being neutral without memory or desire.” In the fields of arts and athletics this state of consciousness is labeled as “flow,” or “being in the zone.” Meditation is the multi-faceted operations of self-monitoring, disciplined attentive focus, and the modulation of states of emotional arousal. It is the optimal state of arousal that permits our brains to work in the most coordinated and effective manner. We know that the tragic flaw of the traumatized brain is that it is seldom if ever “cool under pressure.” Equally important is how meditation offers us the awareness that we are resistant to anchoring ourselves in our bodies. We may struggle on any given day to contain and observe parts of our selves. Any awareness of anxious pendulum-like swings between the past and the future may indicate a need for some self-analysis before we return to the challenges of our day.
Practicing meditation can be as easy or difficult as your level of resistance to being with yourself. I liken it to starting an exercise program. You can convince yourself that to begin exercising you need the right outfit, the right gym, the right trainer, the right comfort looking in the mirror etc., to begin. The same could apply to meditation. It can be as simple as using deep breathing to anchor yourself in your body while you are washing dishes, or it can be as difficult as deciding that you can’t start meditating until you research the most effective technique, pick a mantra, and figure out when and where you have 30 minutes each day to sit quietly.

Eckert Tolle, the world renown spiritual teacher and author defines presence as the moment you are aware that your mind has been on an excursion elsewhere. The father of mainstream meditation in the west is probably Dr. Herbert Benson of Harvard University. Benson in his book “Beyond The Relaxation Response” suggests that one can learn to be present any time and any where. It’s a matter of attending to your sensory experiences as anchors. You can create conditions for flow or being in the zone while walking down the street. All that is required is slowing and deepening your breathing and paying attention to the sensory experiences of your foot falls. It only takes the creation of bounded space and one degree of separation between our experiential and observing selves to open us up to new possibilities for being with ourselves, our loved ones and our patients.

Benson doesn’t know he is preaching to the analytic choir when he touts the indispensability of breaking free of our habitual non-learning ways of thinking to access the creative transformative mind. There may have only been one Mozart but there’s a little bit of Mozart in each of us to tap into if we design the conditions for our artistry. Enjoy!

Gay pride (and prejudice)

At 11:55 last night -- only days before New York's Gay Pride Parade commemorating the 42nd anniversary of the birth of the gay rights movement -- the state became the largest in the nation to approve same-sex marriage.

Gay men and lesbians throughout the country rejoiced at a further recognition that they are equal to any other person regardless of whom they love. What a victory for all those individuals who grew up being told that there was something wrong with them.

Well, yes and no.

Here are some of the comments gay men and lesbians read or saw continually during June, the month of pride:

Same-sex marriage is "unjust and immoral" and poses "an ominous threat" to society (New York Archbishop Timothy Dolan). It will lead to "anarchy" (former New York Giants receiver David Tyree). We should not encourage "sodomites" who are "spreading sin, disease, deviancy, and a higher suicide rate" (Torah Jews for Decency, oblivious to the fact that comments like theirs are what lead to a higher suicide rate). And let's not forget comedian Tracy Morgan's infamous rant that he would stab his son to death if he were to come out as gay.

Imagine being a gay man or lesbian and hearing these comments from religious leaders, celebrities and sports heroes. Or walking in the Gay Pride Parade past "godly" people carrying signs proclaiming that AIDS is God's punishment for homosexuality. It's easy to dismiss these outrageous rants, but what about the subtle messages LGBT individuals get every day.

Imagine the guilt and hurt of knowing your parents, though accepting, blame themselves for your sexual orientation -- since, clearly, someone must be to blame. Or steering conversations at work away from what you did over the weekend for fear that coming out might hurt your career. Or to be a gay man who is afraid to hold his son's hand in public for fear of being reported for child abuse.

Remarkable progress has been made in the 42 years since the Stonewall riots. Yet nine out of ten LGBT students report experiencing harassment and nearly two-thirds of them feel unsafe in school. The incongruities are astounding -- young people are coming out far earlier then ever, yet suicide related to homosexuality remains the second leading cause of death among youth. For the first time, public opinion polls show that a majority of Americans support same-sex marriage and New York joins five states and the District of Colombia in allowing it. Yet 39 states and the federal government (through The Defense of Marriage Act) specifically ban same-sex marriage. Several more outlaw gay people from adopting or becoming foster parents because of the "risk" they pose to children born to crack addicts and dangerously abusive parents. And the Tennessee State Senate recently passed a bill that made it illegal to even discuss homosexuality in any school prior to ninth grade.

The more things change, the more homophobia remains ingrained.

Three decades after the psychiatric Diagnostic and Statistical Manual belatedly removed homosexuality as an illness, I still sometimes treat men and women tormented by their same-sex attraction; adults and adolescents disowned by family or forced to go to counselors not to treat their shame and depression but to change their sexual orientation. I also see many lesbians, gay men and bisexual patients who are out, open and proud, and supported by friends and family.

Homophobia will never be eradicated. We all grow up in a heterosexual society usually in straight families. Sometimes we forget to examine our own subtle fears and assumptions. A couple of years ago, I taught a course in Gender and Sexuality to a group of open-minded psychotherapists. Several people wanted to know what caused homosexuality. Could it be the result of childhood sexual abuse? I noted that no one wanted to know what caused heterosexuality. Could sexual abuse make someone straight? As psychotherapists, when we are sitting with heterosexual patients, do we ever think to wonder about how their sexual orientation affects them?

We should. The difference between homosexuality and heterosexuality is not that one is normal and the other not, it is that one is the unquestioned norm and the other can be a frightening threat.

So let's celebrate the actions of the New York Legislature and Gov. Mario Cuomo. But let's also remember the words of a man celebrating outside the Stonewall Inn where the gay rights movement began: "We are there, finally, but we are not all the way there; this is only one step."
-- Eric Sherman, LCSW

Ain't It Peculiar...Ain't It a Shame?

by Sally Rudoy

As I was on the treadmill at the gym the other day I was listening to my iPod. Set on random shuffle mode, the iPod tossed up a sequence of songs remarkable for their coherence of theme. To my aerobic mind, the internal DJ of my iPod that day was moved to comment on the perplexing irony of couple-hood. Why do we hurt the ones we love? Why do we stay too long in relationships that are no good for us? In short, why does love stink?

Working with couples psychoanalytically I look for themes, patterns of interactions, attachment styles, and the ways in which a couple interpersonally regulate affect. I try to communicate these observations to the couple with a jargon free, lively language that, I hope, will reverberate with the deepest levels of their experience of how they give and receive love.

iPod-tethered as I was there on that belt to nowhere, I realized I could never articulate the conundrum of love more viscerally than those that were serenading my aimless journey. Two "ainty" songs coincidently played in a row. They captured the pattern familiar to songwriters and couple’s therapists alike of loving someone who is depriving or downright cruel.

For your consideration, I submit Marvin Gaye’s version of "Ain’t that Peculiar" and the B52’s, "Ain't it a Shame.” Click on the links below to hear the songs. Read along with the printed lyrics. Ain’t they got it right?

AIN’T THAT PECULIAR sung by Marvin Gaye

(William "Smokey" Robinson/Marvin Tarplin/Robert Rogers/Warren Moore)

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CfpzePp5y8s

Honey you do me wrong but still I’m crazy about you

Stay away too long and I can't do without you

Every chance you get you seem to hurt me more and more

But each hurt makes my love stronger than before

I know flowers go through rain

But how can love go through pain?

Ain't that peculiar

A peculiar ality

Ain't that peculiar baby

Peculiar as can be

You tell me lies that should be obvious to me

I've been so much in love with you baby till I don't wanna see

That the things you do and say are designed to make me blue

It's a dog gone shame my love for you makes all

Your lies seem true

But if the truth makes love last longer

Why do lies make my love stronger?

Ain't that peculiar

Peculiar as can be

Ain't that peculiar baby

Peculiar ality

I cried so much just like a child that’s lost its toy

Maybe baby you think these tears I cry are tears of joy

A child can cry so much until you do everything they say

But unlike a child my tears don't help me to get my way

I know love can last through years

But how can love last through tears?

Ain't that peculiar

A peculiar ality

Ain't that peculiar baby

Peculiar as can be

Ain’t It a Shame B-52s

http://www.4shared.com/audio/-riB68Om/07_The_B-52s_Aint_It_A_Shame.html

(Cindy Wilson, Ricky Wilson, Keith Strickland)

Flying saucers could land

And it wouldn't make much difference to my man

I could walk aboard and thank the lord

And leave this damn town in seconds flat

Check my bags and never come back

Oh, our love is

Like a fuse that's burned out

Oh, our love is

Like a fuse that's burned out

Oh, I've been unkind

Not like you

Ain't I ashamed

Being misused

Oh, our love is

Like a fuse that's burned out

Oh, our love is

Like a fuse that's burned out

I liked your Chevy Duster

I liked your brand new trailer

I liked your color TV

But you looked at that color TV

More than me

More than me

Oh, our love is

Like a fuse that's burned out

Oh, our love is

Like a fuse that's burned out