Book review ‘Gewoon speciaal’ (Simply Special) by Bart Heeling

Recently, I read the book Gewoon speciaal – kijken vanuit kindperspectief (‘Simply Special – looking from the child perspective’) by Bart Heeling, published as a hardcover and illustrated with drawings by Mariët van der Merwe. What started as stories on LinkedIn has become an easy-to-read and at the same time very wise book.
On his website we read: “It is my mission to give parents, teachers, directors, administrators (actually everyone involved in the development of children) insight into the function of behaviour. In doing so, I like to create awareness of how you yourself react to that behaviour.” You can read more about Bart’s work on his website and through that route, you can contact him for a lecture, workshop or training.

As a teacher in special education, Bart uses a very important and valuable principle: “These are children with a intense past or a sad present. (…) I have children in my class who are having a difficult time, instead of being difficult.”
That is a wonderful starting point and at the same time a challenge when it comes to interpreting and dealing with that behaviour. When we feel that other people are ‘being difficult’, it often says something about what we ourselves *find difficult*. What is it that the other person is showing that we find difficult to translate into the underlying meaning? What is triggered in ourselves by that behaviour? What pain, what unexpressed, unprocessed emotion is touched by it? Can we grow beyond that or, put differently… can we recognise our own inner child in the patterns of the child before us and can we see what was once difficult for ourselves, possibly see mirrored now?

Bart advocates looking from the child’s perspective and the book is a collection of short stories about his experiences with pupils, with which he illustrates aspects of the role of adults.
The chapters are divided by theme, such as ‘Our exemplary behaviour and feedback’, ‘Recognising the child’, ‘Recognising signal behaviour’ and ‘Dealing with disorders’, to name the themes of the first four chapters. Themes such as trauma-sensitive teaching, rethinking education and the connection between parents and school are also discussed.

Throughout, attention is paid to the influence of a disrupted stress regulation system, to the importance of coregulation, and to trauma as the source of difficult-to-manage behaviour or behaviour that is disruptive to the rest of the group. I was repeatedly moved to read how Bart tackles all kinds of situations and always keeps the underlying wound of the child in mind. For example, in the introduction to Chapter 6 he says that ‘it remains important to realise that much behaviour is a form of coping’ (page 89), or a survival strategy that a child has learned.

With it, the child can deal with what happens at home and what continues in other social environments. This is followed by a number of stories about how children themselves resolve arguments, based on intrinsic motivation, and about how an adult can use humour and an unexpected, funny reaction to take the sting out of a loaded situation.

Chapter 7, Trauma-sensitive teaching, is, in my opinion, the core of the book, because this is a theme that is essentially the foundation of all other subjects. The first book I read during my bachelor’s degree for ‘Cultural Anthropology & Development Sociology’, was entitled Small Places, Large Issues – a title that aims to make it clear that discussing what happens in a small place, in a small setting, is very often illustrative of very large subjects. This is also the case in Bart Heeling’s book. The stories show a world of children’s experiences. In the way Bart takes his role in these micro-interactions, it becomes clear how much he has an eye and heart for the big themes that lie behind the comments, behaviors and facial expressions of the children in his care. These themes create stress that does not always find a convenient way out; anger from nearby adults certainly does not lead to a newfound sense of security. In my opinion, his answers to what happens show his deep awareness and his constant striving to be the rock in the surf for the child, the regulated adult. What a relief that is for a child who grows up with unrest and chaos, sadness and loneliness, and what an inspiration Bart offers for everyone who fulfills a task in the lives of young children.

In his book, Bart takes a clear position on certain principles:

  • Anger should be left behind at all times.
  • When you are angry, children do not learn to know their own boundaries, but yours.
  • Resistance is an expression of the need for control, which is necessary for survival.
  • Positive experiences feed the child’s confidence in you and themselves.
  • Recognition and reframing of a strong reaction to a stimulus helps a child to put things into perspective and relax.

This is a small selection of the statements that are peppered throughout the book and which are essentially all a call to the adult to examine their own framework of beliefs. I suppose there is a real chance that this exercise will lead many adults to conclude that they themselves are also ‘simply special’ and have their own dragons and demons to fight. A well-regulated, stable (other) adult is probably helpful for them too. May a book like this contribute to us all using the opportunities that exist to be a source of emotional support for others, big or small. In doing so, we contribute on a very essential level and in a gentle, powerful, compassionate way to the social well-being for which the foundation is laid in childhood, every (school) day again!

The lived experience, Episode 14 – This week: Sanne

Birth Imprints

‘What’s next?’ For months now, she had been struggling with stress over a neighbour that had turned from kind into too eager to help out, into monitoring her routine coming and going. She withdrew as it felt increasingly uncomfortable and when her car was damaged, her property damaged and a torch light shone intentionally at her bedroom window, for her an increase of a sense of total unsafety emerged. It began with her feeling frustrated, then angry and subsequently sliding into feeling terrified, nervous to leave the house, and hyper-vigilant for fear of being followed.  At home she was worried; during her Christmas-stay with relatives miles and miles away, she was worried what might happen while she was absent and what would happen when she returned. Her mind was overactive and despite support from authorities she felt helpless and alone.

She had asked me to do a Compassionate Inquiry session with her so that she might get a bit more clarity about what made her so fearful about the situation. She continuously felt on edge, constantly trying to anticipate what might be next. Nevertheless, she felt powerless; where did that come from?
As she tells me the story, I ask her what she notices in her body. She feels frozen, a tightening in the chest like a rigid block and the fear makes her feel somewhat sick. As she speaks, she hunches the shoulders and I ask her to exaggerate that movement a bit: shoulders a bit more forward, tightening the muscles a bit more… She has her eyes closed and says she feels helpless and has a sickly feeling in the throat that she has not noticed before. She has a hard time staying with the physical sensations and the emotions that come with the sense of helplessness. We are silent together while she is feeling into her body and I hold her in my presence. I look carefully at my screen to see how she moves, to listen to the volume of her voice, to let the words that she speaks sink in.

I suddenly get a very intuitive urge; I ask her if I can share an observation and a question with her and she agrees. ‘As I was watching you, making yourself small and bending your head forward, I was wondering… do you know what your birth was like?’ She only pauses a second and tells me that her birth was induced. She came four weeks early, because the umbilical cord was wrapped around the placenta and she was in danger. When she was born, she was asphyxiated, gasping for air in her lungs, and after a short moment with her mother, she was put in an incubator. For the three days she was only rarely touched and was alone much of the time. I ask her what it must be like for a baby to be born early, to feel short of breath, almost suffocated and in utter distress, and then be pretty much left alone. ‘Very scary’, she says. I look at her: ‘Very scary…? What is it you might have feared, lying there alone?’ She waits and thinks and says: ‘Am I okay?’, ‘Will somebody come for me?’, ‘What do I do if they don’t?’ Her choice of analytical words does not seem to match the fearful look on her face nor the faded volume of her voice and I say: ‘Might you have been terrified, fearing you might die…?’ The tears come again: ‘Maybe I thought it was the end… and I often feel terrified, indeed, and I find it unbearable to be alone, completely disconnected from myself…’ We take time to let this sense of life-threatening loneliness be present for a moment. This allows her to experience that this time she actually can survive this emotion – actually has already survived the intense loneliness.

Then she continues: ‘There must have been this feeling of ‘What’s next? What might happen to me next?’ As she utters the sentence, she is aware that this is what she has been wondering about for months now with regard to her neighbour and she shakes her head: ‘You have heard me say this before, literally…’ I nod in silence and after she has shed more tears, I point out that this is a connection she made on her own: ‘Yes… this is a massive realisation’, she says and we are both aware of the incredible mirroring of the past in the present.

We dive a bit more deeply into aspects of what she has just discovered and she says that the vulnerability of helplessness causes her terror. We conclude, however, that she is not as helpless, powerless, and lonely now as she was way back then. Pondering all she has said in this one hour long inquiry, we also wonder about her energetic presence when this terror takes over. What does she radiate with this sense of powerlessness that might in a bizarre way ‘entice’ her neighbour? To prevent any misunderstanding… this is not about ‘blaming the victim’, but about acknowledging that her earliest experiences outside of the safe womb were of terror and fear of dying. This has left a huge imprint in her that she carries and exudes, despite all the amazing achievements she has manifested in her life.

‘True connection feels like a big soothing hug to me’, she tells, ‘but I have had so many experiences in my life where soothing and holding were lacking that it has become quite difficult for me to trust others. Also, I don’t like to be controlled and at the same time being on my own and feeling alone has been a huge theme throughout my life…’ She is teared up again, still processing the fact that all of this, as much as it seemed connected to experiences in childhood, had a much earlier root cause, still.

The next day she texts me: ‘As a baby I was terrified, alone, wondering what was next, afraid I might die… When I have been gripped by these feelings [of helplessness], I have thought as well:  what’s the next option, because this feels like death. It makes sense why this whole situation is so raw for me. Thank you for your time today. That was a life changing session for me.’ She adds that she had a beautiful conversation with her mother that day, about how her mom had told the nurses who wanted to send her home: ‘I am not leaving my baby!’ What an amazing and touching flow of healing events…

Growth and healing through Compassionate Inquiry

In all its simplicity, it was a luxurious, rich summer for me. Between February 2023 and February 2024, I had an intensive year because of my psychotherapeutic training in Compassionate Inquiry. I had chosen a ‘deep dive’ and a lot was stirred within me. All kinds of familiar interactions, behavioural patterns and inner beliefs felt either suddenly no good anylonger, or worse than in the many years before. In the spring of 2024, I was tired of all the emotions and insights gained and I was in urgent need of self-care, of a summer trip in which I could do exactly what my heart longed for and from which I would return happy and recharged. It took courage to deviate from the usual routine and express what I needed. However, my training had also been very useful for that kind of courage and so my plan slowly took shape.

I went looking for an off-grid camper, so that I could travel around without pre-determined locations and would not even need campsites. I found one that was available for almost six weeks. My husband also planned his three weeks of vacation differently than usual and after his first week I picked him up and we travelled together for two weeks through the Vosges, where we also campered wild.

Before that, however, I lived alone in the wonderful camper for three and a half weeks. I spent most of that time in the Dolomites, with their rugged peaks and valleys, in my experience a heartbreakingly beautiful environment. More than the flat Dutch landscape, those high mountain tops seem to do justice to my emotional life and my feeling about human existence, which rarely continues in a clear, straight, flat line.

When I crossed the Italian border from Austria on the third day and turned off the highway towards the Rosengarten massif (or Catinaccio), I felt my heart pounding. I was deeply moved by the sight of the peaks that were beautifully coloured pink-red-orange in the late afternoon light. It felt indescribable, the thought that I would be able to limitlessly intensely enjoy this natural beauty for more than three weeks, without anyone finding it strange or exaggerated, without having to coordinate with anyone what to do or not to do, without having to make even the slightest compromise. I would live in my house-on-wheels that felt very safe, cook on the three-burner stove with ingredients from the refrigerator that was perfectly cooled by the solar panels on the roof and I would (thanks to those same solar panels) shower with warm boiler water between the back doors and then crawl into bed fresh, drowsy and satisfied, with or without a plan for the next day.

The amazement and feeling of being deeply touched about all those aspects stayed with me during my holiday weeks, and they were accompanied by all kinds of realisations, insights, and inspired resolutions. I rested. My heart became calm. I began to feel softer and stronger, observing with interest how I reacted to all sorts of things, my presence of mind in a few difficult situations, my ability to do what had to be done afterwards, to enjoy my own company in relaxed gratitude. Brushing my teeth romantically under the stars and driving around hairpin bends with a big van like a Peugeot Boxer of more than six meters under my butt… it was all equally beautiful and all equally representative of very pure, unhindered aspects of who I really am.

During the few times that I stayed at a campsite and noticed what the stimuli of noisy, not always very friendly family members did to me, I became aware of what the off grid camping and the many walks had already brought me and how much the silence and beauty of nature are an inexhaustible source to refresh and quench yourself, also literally, when I could fill my water tank from a mountain stream. It also made it clear to me in what way I no longer want to communicate with others: I no longer want to function that way myself, and I no longer want to be subjected to it.

There were also sad moments, moments when I realised how differently things had gone over the years, very different from how I had organised them now and where I now felt comfortable, how I had often felt paralysing loneliness, not knowing how I myself could come to a different way or organising things, which would undoubtedly have changed the dynamics between me and those I was with. Above all, however, I could view all that with compassion, without any tendency to fix or escape or judge. I could understand where that old behaviour had found its origins. I managed to look with modest but appropriate pride at how many of those old patterns I have been able to let go of since, how I now look at things in a fundamentally different way and how I talk to myself and others.

In previous years I had met people who had made me ‘ripe’ for a personal development path, but… the work still needs to be done, so to speak, and I did it, with dedication. The Compassionate Inquiry training has consequently brought about an unexpectedly profound transformation in me. The follow-up to this training, the Mentorship Program, started during my vacation and I consider it an honour and a blessing that I have been admitted. Next year, during the Mentorship and the subsequent certification process (for which I will hopefully be invited in due course based on my competencies), will therefore be intense and transformative again. I am taking that into account, but undoubtedly things will happen again this year that I cannot possibly foresee. I enjoy the prospect. I am looking forward to the process. I want to commit myself to it with heart and soul, because I have already seen so often how Compassionate Inquiry supports people in finding their own, authentic Self again – magical!

Many of us have to choose very early in life between our authenticity and the attachment to parents/caregivers who, as a result of how they themselves were raised, are often unable to fully handle that authenticity. As Gabor often says: ‘You will have to choose between the pain of losing yourself for the sake of the attachment relationships, or the pain of having yourself and losing certain relationships.’ And under ideal circumstances, you can be authentic and maintain and grow the relationship with the other. However, this requires that you first discover who you are, that you become familiar with and feel safe in your own authenticity. It requires that you dare to stand up for your own needs (such as a holiday period alone, or whatever it may be that you need).

What we see as our ‘character’ and our ‘personality’ often consists of coping strategies that are based on early childhood trauma. ‘I’m just a quiet person’, ‘I’m just afraid of x’, ‘I’m just very exuberant’… these are inner beliefs. Certain ‘character traits’ were once the only way to maintain yourself in your social circumstances. A ‘compassionate inquiry’, a compassionate investigation based on sincere curiosity about underlying dynamics, can shed new light on this. It used to be a very wise decision to arrange your behaviour as you did and perhaps still do. We call that ‘the wisdom of trauma’ – title of the film about Gabor’s work. Even though some behavioural patterns no longer serve you… they once saved you; they therefore deserve self-compassion, not judgment. After all, by judging them you reject a part of yourself and hardly anyone develops a sense of security and relaxed growth from rejection. To feel safe in your own company, the first invitation is to stop snapping at yourself, but to conduct a gentle inner dialogue. When you can fully embrace everything that belongs to you and observe it in a compassionate way, the world will look different and life will feel easier. What a wonderful path to continually take further steps on!

As part of my training program, I will be conducting many Compassionate Inquiry conversations in the coming period. Here you can find more information about this approach, which is the brainchild of Gabor Maté. The essence of his approach is that ACEs (Adverse Childhood Experiences or early childhood trauma) are largely the source of health problems and lack of well-being. That is a strong, but scientifically sound statement. If you are struggling with ‘old pain’ or disturbed relationships, a session with Compassionate Inquiry can almost certainly give you new insights.

If you are interested in experiencing the power of this approach and using it in your own life… please let me know via info@aceaware.nl . Then we can perhaps make an appointment for a session. Welcome!

Book review ‘Attuned’ by Thomas Hübl

What do we know about our ancestors? What do we really know about even our parents? Do we know what they went through during the early stages of their own lives? What emotions and inner beliefs played the leading role in how they met? What did they see in each other that led to our conception? Can we ‘attune’ to them, even if they are gone?

In many cases we know very little. We have an idea of ​​it, but we do not really know. We usually base our ideas about our parents on our experiences with them, on how they interacted with us and others, and on how they organised their lives. And even (or especially!) if we think: “I’m going to do that differently, because this approach doesn’t seem the best to me” or “I’m going to do that differently, because I’m furious about all the pain their approach has caused me”… precisely then there is a good chance that we will repeat patterns. With everything we recognise, or ignore and push away, we often forget that the experiences of our parents and other ancestors are stored in our cells and that whether we believe it or not, we are influenced by those experiences. These are tough, big, sometimes difficult to imagine realities that deserve careful discussion so that we gain more insight into how this works and how we can deal with it.

That is exactly what the book ‘Attuned’ does. Author Thomas Hübl is, in addition to being a writer, also a spiritual teacher and international facilitator of events where he focuses on intergenerational trauma healing and dialogue around oppression, colonialism and racism. He draws on the traditions of modern science, philosophy, theology and indigenous wisdom and rituals. This is a book that requires some prior knowledge for a good understanding, because it is sometimes complicated reading. At the same time, it reads almost like poetry and the meaning of what he writes is moving, comforting and enriching.
The basic premise is that everything and everyone is interconnected and that damaging practices in one place has energetic effects on all other places and organisms in the world:

The nervous system connects us to a complete record, a vast inner library containing all of one’s experiences across a lifetime. In fact, the human nervous system connects us to one another. Through transparent communication practices, we will learn to employ this evolutionary tool for deeper relational intelligence (p. 25, author’s italics).

That is a comprehensive idea. That idea also entails a comprehensive responsibility, because then you can no longer separate the damage you create over there from the situation over here, the pain in others from the pain in yourself – and the healing of the world from the healing you are willing to initiate within yourself.

Each of us has a chance to take part in this vital work, to bring our share of light and healing coherence to a struggling world. (…) By upholding our sacred responsibility to integrate trauma, we, in effect, remove our shares from the collective trauma field, lessoning the overall burden of suffering for others. This is not merely something some of us should do; it is work that all of us who are conscious and capable must do (p. 197, author’s italics).

As in many approaches to healing, Thomas’s work also has a strong emphasis on the importance of ‘embodiment’, awareness around personal experiences of sadness and pain and loneliness. You cannot ‘analyse’ the pain away; healing requires ‘presence’ – being present with your full attention and allowing the pain that is stored in your own cells and in the cells of loved ones, ancestors, acquaintances and distant strangers to penetrate into every fibre of your body. If you do not do this, there will be consequences:

Simply choosing not to know, feel, or reckon with the truth of who we once were is a decision to keep the truth hidden in darkness. (…) [B]y refusing to awaken to the consequence of the ancestor’s choices, we both suffer and perpetuate them. (…) When we carry unacknowledged familial or historical traumas, our ancestors are not in peace. As a result, our living nervous systems – and, therefore, our minds and bodies – cannot maintain a healthy state of flow (p.170, 171).

The result is ultimately illness and social malaise, as Thomas describes in various places in the book. It is therefore important to be aware of your own experiences with grief and loss, so that you can compassionately be conscious with what the other person is going through. This is often called ‘empathy’, but empathy is an exciting topic and requires personal development and awareness. A long quote:

How do I protect myself from taking on other people’s “stuff”? People everywhere seem to be looking for an answer to this puzzling question. In contemporary vernacular, the word empath is often seen as someone who struggles with what we might call “leaky emotional syndrome,” the problem of experiencing other people’s energies and confusing them with their own or simply feeling overwhelmed by others’ emotions. Some people may, in fact, have a higher de-gree of sensitivity, and they may suffer in this way. However, it’s usually not high sensitivity but a lack of groundedness and embodiment that causes the overwhelm – often rooted in attachment injuries. Healing the root trauma creates a more stable sense of embodiment, which allows a person to experience their high sensitivity as a gift rather than a curse. We might think of it like a tree with a very large crown of branches; it needs equally strong roots to stand (p. 91, author’s italics).

The book is an impressive combination of knowledge about physical, mental and spiritual processes. Thomas thus shows in a holistic manner how all these aspects of human existence are related. He sees three fundamental human rights in this context, namely ‘the right of being, the right of becoming (the unfolding of potential), and the right of belonging (the right to build healthy relational bonds and to experience oneself as part of a community)’’ (p. 19). Without respect for these ‘fundamental expressions of the soul’ (p. 19), mutual bonds and social systems, including families and governments, will collapse, according to Thomas.
When we develop the skills associated with ‘relational intelligence’, an interpersonal dynamic is created that stimulates growth:

To heal the past and create greater coherence in the present – ​​and, therefore, more availability to the future – three steps are essential: reflection, digestion, and integration. (…) When this process is allowed to happen, especially in the context of a supportive environment, we often experience positive changes or posttraumatic growth (p. 125,126, author’s italics).

It sometimes feels like an impossible task, with everything going on in the world, to maintain the feeling that you can make a difference, but Thomas has a positive view on this:

Only a small number of us – a critical mass, if you will – is required to engage before a new level of collective coherence becomes established in sympathetic resonance, ringing like a tuning fork across the field, inviting the entire world to join (p. 190 ).

“But the problem is way too big!”, you may shout, “and it is not about me at all, because it is about the planet, ecological problems and climate change. These issues must be solved!” Attention is also being paid to this:

Gus Speth, the American environmental lawyer and former US senior advisor on climate change, has said, “I used to think that top environmental problems were biodiversity loss, eco-system collapse, and climate change. I thought that thirty years of good science could address these problems, I was wrong. The top environmental problems are selfishness, greed, and apa-thy, and to deal with these we need a cultural and spiritual transformation” Speth is right, of course, but it’s important to note that the selfishness, greed, and apathy he mentions are , in truth, only symptoms of the larger problem, which is our unaddressed collective shadow and unhealed collective trauma. It is our willingness to awaken to, experience, and transform these root causes that create the cultural and spiritual transformation Speth prescribes (p. 189, author’s italics).

This is a book where reading once is not enough; this is a treasure chest to which you can return regularly to absorb what is said even more thoroughly and to integrate its wisdom even more deeply. I underlined a lot of things and put lots of comments and emojis in the margins so I can easily find back the valuable passages. It was wonderful to go through the chapters together with colleagues from the ‘book club’ within my Compassionate Inquiry-community and to share with each other what the text evoked. I highly recommend such a review of ‘Attuned,’ as well as much of the other work by Thomas Hübl that can easily be found on the web. Every year he also hosts the online ‘Collective Trauma Summit’ – also a source of valuable insights.

The lived experience, Episode 13 – This week: Vera

Breadcrumbs…

Vera had had intense days with a training that had asked a lot of her. The trainers had been present dedicatedly and had paid attention to everyone’s needs. In an impressive way, they had brought in both a lot of energy and a lot of calmness. She looks back at it with a lot of satisfaction, but there is also a lot to reflect on and I have time to listen to her. I have been in conversation with her before and the confidence between us gives a safe vibe to our conversation. She fires away immediately.

On the last morning of the training, Vera had looked around and felt touched as she saw how all the participants were chatting with each other. She herself had also been pleasantly in conversation, but then she had sat alone for a while and unexpectedly all the experiences of the training had merged into one big inner spectacle. The insights screamed for attention: ‘Do you realise this? Are you aware of that? Don’t you think this is special? Have you let that get through to you? Do you see how this is related to what you had discovered earlier?’ She sits opposite me, looking somewhat defeated, and says: “I feel that there is a link between my life history and my feelings about what is currently happening. I felt it that morning too, but I could not put it into words. I could only feel tears welling up from my toes. I felt short of breath; I sat with my eyes closed and felt like I couldn’t breathe. I was afraid that I would fall apart into a thousand pieces. I needed all my attention to keep my breathing in order and make room for those tears.

The sounds around me seemed to disappear. I sat there with my eyes closed and was aware of everything that came to mind, until suddenly I felt a hand on my back. I just knew it belonged to one of the trainers; I recognised the energy that emanated from it. I took a quick look and saw that I was right. I was encouraged to breathe more deeply because my breathing was so high in my chess. I tried that, but it was difficult. I felt completely overwhelmed by my emotions…” The hand had remained on her back for a while; then she received a kiss on the top of her head and was left to herself again; the trainer walked away.

Vera thinks and is silent for a moment before continuing her story: “On the one hand, I felt uncomfortable being in the middle of everyone, but I knew that the training was intended to gain insights, so I didn’t want to run away from it, but I also do not want to pretend any longer that I am strong and can handle anything. What happens and how people respond to me… that often affects me so deeply. They regularly seem to think that I can handle it all, because I don’t immediately fall over, but I am much more sensitive than people generally realise and there are certain dynamics I am no longer willing to accept anymore.” She sounds fiercer. She tells about a number of people with whom communication has been difficult for some time. She has recently looked into various forms of passive aggressiveness. Someone pointed this out to her some time ago and she wanted to know more about it so that she could investigate what it meant and whether she was guilty of it, as that person claimed. Now that she has learned new things, she can recognise elements of it more quickly and pays more attention to how she communicates. “I have noticed how often passive aggression and gaslighting occur. I find that difficult and I am shocked and sad about my own role in it and about what I did not notice. I can see better now how as a child I used to be treated that way so often that I came to think it was normal. I did not always communicate well, but I also often tolerated how I was treated. That really has to stop; I don’t want to do that anymore and I don’t want to be the target of it anymore either…”

The tears well up and Vera brings up her expectations of relationships and friendships: “Some say you shouldn’t have expectations because that only leads to disappointment, but I think that’s impossible. Things like reliability, responsibility, reciprocity, vulnerability, openness and attention… these are essential to me. I experience these as human values, but certainly also as social needs! I want to be able to count on that.”
We are silent together and suddenly she realises something: “I can actually remember so little of moments in my childhood when my parents were really happy with me and for me. It did happen occasionally, but it was so sporadic, not nearly as often as what I try to give to my own children… I just settled for what little there was in terms of attention and emotional availability… I got that from both of them to a very limited extent and I am becoming increasingly aware that this is why I long for it so much in friendships and love relationships. For far too long I have satisfied myself with a bare minimum there and that has led to many feelings of loneliness…”

I look at Vera and my thoughts go to the theatre play the day before, in which the interviewer had asked the guest at the beginning about his definition of freedom. The guest replied: “If you don’t long for it, then you are really free.” There was mock laughter in the large, packed hall; the suggestion came up that we could all go home, now that the greatest lesson had already been delivered. The interviewer fell somewhat silent and the guest had continued with a grin: “A child who romps outside and plays in the meadow near the ditches and can go wherever they want… such a child does not speak about freedom, because they simply ARE free. Only when we lack things do we start to crave them and they become needs, concepts that we want to define, but as soon as that happens, you already know what is going on. Someone who is or wants to be the ‘connector’ in a family or a group has had a place and a role earlier in life or in a previous life in which there was little connection. Now, in this life, in this environment, an attempt is being made to make up for that, to do things differently. We are, as it were, living the dynamics that we previously missed; that is why we are here.”

The performance had lasted almost three hours, but these opening lines had been the most important of the evening for me. I had taken them home and now recognised them in Vera’s words. We explored it further and I dropped the term ‘breadcrumbs’. That is a word used for relational dynamics in which someone so incredibly longs for connection, security, and genuine, loving attention that every little bit of those values ​​is received as if a banquet is being served, when there are merely breadcrumbs. They do not satisfy the hunger, but give just about enough to fuel the hope that sooner or later there will be a richly filled dinner table. And the more vulnerable and hungry we are, the more likely we are to conveniently ignore the red flags of such an interaction pattern. It is sometimes called ‘intermittent reinforcement’, a severe form of emotional neglect or actually emotional abuse. I know that dynamic all too well, so I now recognise it in Vera’s words. We mutually mirror one another and that connects us.

We discuss some more and she indicates that she has gained clarity about the coherence between her wishes, the way she deals with them and what she tries to tolerate in dealing with others. Of course, it also comes up that once again she is in the middle of the tension between ‘attachment’ and ‘authenticity’ and, as a result of the pain of the past, attachment is often still being given priority. Guarding your boundaries, respecting your values… a young child cannot do that, but as adults we have an (emotional and health) role in this and she is now on the brave path of self-care for this.