We meet at a gathering about the influence of suppressed emotions on physical health. She has had a lot of experience with that and would like to talk about it in more detail. The time doesn’t feel quite right for a therapeutic consultation yet, but an interview… that sounds like a good idea! Not long afterwards, Hester (pseudonym) comes to my practice and with tea and sweets and candles we have a couple of good hours together.

“I decided a while ago that I don’t want to make myself small anymore, that guilt, shame, infamy and judgment can all be put aside and that I can take up space, purely for who I am, and to share my experience of overcoming a deep crisis with very serious illness with others who may benefit from it. That is really why I’m here with you right now. I have had to deal with an intense sense of inferiority for much of my life and my illness helped me a lot to overcome that.”

We first make an inventory of the nest she comes from. She is the second in a family of four children. Her parents divorced after 39 years of marriage; she was then pregnant with the middle of three children. She recently heard in a lecture by Anna Verwaal that the influence of prenatal trauma as a result of stress on the mother can be great. “My own situation has repeated itself with my daughter. My parents lived with grandparents in the house, next to their business, and due to circumstances the house and business had to be torn down and we had to move. My mother was pregnant with me at the time and my father became unemployed. My parents were well matched intellectually, but socially they came from a different background. The conditions forced them to move to a social housing area and I had the feeling that my mother was very unhappy there – she was not used to that. I was born two weeks before that move and my mother was completely exhausted and over-stressed. It was not talked about, but I have always felt it. Due to the stressful circumstances, my father decided it would be better to take me to a befriended couple without children for a while so that my mother could have more peace. I don’t know exactly how old I was or how long it lasted, but I was really still a newborn baby and so I was separated from my mother, while my sister stayed at home.

This Aunt, as I called her, was a sweet, quiet woman and she really saw me as her child. When I went back home after a while, the attachment with my mother did not work out. I did not start talking until I was two, and with every little thing or ache that was difficult, I wanted Auntie to come. When I developed constipation, the GP ordered a six-month ban from Auntie, so that I would get attached to my mother again. I have had a good relationship with Auntie all my life and all my memories up to the age of six are with her. However, I know almost nothing about home. The whole situation has created separation anxiety in me and sometimes that still plays up.

And strangely enough… when I was pregnant with the youngest, I was also completely overwrought. We lived in a strange house with a nasty energy and moved house in the eighth month of pregnancy. When this highly sensitive daughter was pregnant herself with her second child, she also lived in an uncanny home in which a woman committed suicide and then she also moved when she was eight or nine months pregnant. I really wish my granddaughter that this doesn’t happen to her too and I sometimes wonder what it is that this happened three times. What does that mean? Fortunately, I can talk to our daughter very openly about it, but you can’t undo it.

Anyway, I still have a lot of unanswered questions. As a child I was always very absent, as if I was on my own cloud, living in my own bubble. My parents were very proud of my eldest brother; he was glorified and could do no harm in their eyes and I used to think, ‘Why am I not being seen and heard? Am I not sweet and good? There is place for me, too, no?’ I felt misunderstood by my mother at the time. I was always different; I was highly sensitive and kicked down sacred cows. Once home from school I had to get rid of my excess energy and I was very busy, but then I would lock myself in my bubble again; they did not understand me. I had and still have trouble really physically living in my body, so to speak, and I cried a lot as a child, for seemingly nothing, and I could be very dramatic… Even now, my pain threshold is very low. Still, compared to the rest of the family, I was a rebel and didn’t fit into my mother’s guilt-shame-infamy program. Everything had to be neat and well-behaved and I was not.”

She says that after the move, her father first found a new job, but then fell ill and from the age of 46, when Hester was 11 years old, was always at home and never got better. Her mother was busy with the children and taking care of her husband. Mother found it very difficult that years after the third child another child came. She was constantly on the verge of exhaustion. Both parents, according to Hester, have tried incredibly hard to make the best of it, yet the family led a very limited life, with a very small social circle. This had repercussions on the children and also on the marriage, which, after almost forty years and therapy by the mother, still failed.

Hester started the atheneum after primary school; that was tough for her and she actually preferred to go to HAVO, because music was now an official exam subject there and that would help her to go to the conservatory. However, her parents wanted to keep her at the atheneum: their daughter would do what they could not have manifested themselves. She was not allowed to go to HAVO. She completed the atheneum and felt she never wanted to touch a book again. Music it would be: the conservatory in The Hague, moving out, although it was only later that she realised that she had no idea whatsoever about what she was really interested in. She had a wish to go to Poona and become a follower of Bhagwan, but that, too, was not an option for a decent Catholic girl. Do your best, be good, study, find a job, start a family… that was the expected course of events.

“I just wasn’t equipped to stand on my own two feet at all. I was not brought up that way; I didn’t know how to make social contacts, I couldn’t find my way. Every weekend I would go home and take my laundry with me…” She shakes her head at the image of a girl who had to survive in ‘the big world’ from a small, protected family environment: “What a drama it was… I played the flute and knew from the start it wasn’t for me, but at least it was better than the secretarial course my parents suggested. I thought… if I have to do that and then stay at home, I’m going to die; I can’t handle that. Other options, such as dietetics or the library academy were also reviewed, but somehow they all didn’t fit. After the third year I stopped in The Hague and eventually I finished the conservatory in Maastricht. The requirements there were not nearly as high; there it was much more like a properly structured school and more manageable and I was able to keep up and pass my exams there.”

She tells how from an early age she felt like a square that had to be squeezed into a social circle: “Always neat, always behaving decently, adapting… but I was rebellious! I wanted to live my own life! I wanted to look different! I wholeheartedly wanted all of that, but I hadn’t been able to develop the skills and confidence to actually do it. I was a good, almost depressed, otherworldly, lonely, poem-writing adolescent girl…”

These qualities made her also stage frightened, so a career as a musician was out of the question. She taught, but because of the high unemployment especially as a substitute, and she also experienced little pleasure doing so. She now had a conservatory diploma, but was not working as a musician. Instead, she worked with children who had to take recorder lessons before they could play a ‘real’ instrument – it felt like a pastime that lacked passion. Little did she know at the time that this was the end of a phase in which she did paid work.

We’ll hear more about Hester next week.

In the spring of 2022 I came into contact with a small-scale care institution in Assen, where very specific attention is being paid to the residents’ background, which often involves early childhood trauma. The employees and trainees also regularly have a history of adverse events that made or make life difficult. One of the trainees last year was ‘Joy’ (pseudonym). She asked me if I was willing to give a lesson at her school together with her. That happened and in May and June of 2022 we blogged about it.
Now Joy and I are preparing a meeting for the institution’s care team together. That is a good reason to highlight Joy’s story. We are happy to share it with you below!

“For the first thirteen years of my life I grew up with my mother in an unsafe situation. She lived in her own bubble and if she came out of it or we came into hers, she would yell at us, my brother and sister and me. She was always negative; she was never into anything and never wanted to do something nice, for example swimming or walking. She did not have time and attention for us; we were rather a burden. She used to say: “You are worth nothing; you are stupid and you have the same rotten face as your father.” If I said anything about my father, my mother would go crazy and scream. It usually resulted in me getting spanked and going to bed without having had dinner. I hardly ever took a shower; I was always dirty and walked around in torn clothes. Because of my parents’ messy divorce, I was hardly ever allowed to see my father. If he was allowed to pick me up, my father felt bad for me for the way I looked. I often showered at his house first and then got fresh clothes.

My mother’s friend, my stepfather, came from a large family of fifteen. He used to be regularly beaten with a belt. Those were the norms and values he grew up with. After drinking, he would turn into a beast. He committed violent crimes and hit us with a curtain rail or with his hand. He regularly smashed the entire house to pieces. As a child I was very scared; I felt victimised. Especially when my stepfather had smashed everything and the police came to the door, I thought: “Why aren’t they doing anything? Don’t they see me?” I sat on the stairs crying and thought: “Help me, do something!” They did nothing; they simply turned and disappeared. Also in this situation I felt not seen and not heard and this was confirmation for me that I was worth nothing.

At primary school I was excluded and bullied for how I looked in my dirty clothes with holes, but also because my stepfather was regularly in jail. I was not allowed to play with anyone and no one was allowed to come to my place. As a child I actually felt like a prisoner, too. I felt dirty, lonely and sad. When I said about my stepfather: “He is not my father”, nobody believed me, because my biological father was barely in the picture. No one saw who and what he was like. This felt really bad, like I was not seen and heard. I was very proud of my real dad, but I could not share my pride with anyone.

Because of my parents’ messy divorce, I got a supervision order. My mother duped the family guardian with manipulation and lies. As a result, my biological father was accused of everything, including assault and abuse. My confidence in myself was already gone, but I also lost confidence in the guardian and the police. My mother always said: “You have the same rotten face as your father; you have ‘father marks’ instead of birthmarks.” * She said I was stupid and I was not capable of anything and I thought it must be true; after all, no one helped me. Not seen not heard… every time everything felt like confirmation that I was worth nothing.

I felt terribly lonely and sad; I often lay in bed crying and then I missed my real father. I wanted to live with Dad, but most often, I was not allowed to see him. I did not dare say I wanted to live with him; I had done that once and then I was hit so hard with a plastic curtain rail that my body was purple with welts. My entire closet had been smashed and my clothes had been thrown out the window. I could not flee for fear of getting more blows, so I fled in my own head. There I was completely in my own bubble. In my primary school report this can be read every year: “Joy is absent and often seems to be far away in dreamland.”

When I was thirteen I decided that I was going to say that I wanted to live with daddy. It took me two days to finally tell. I was terrified of getting some big, hard blows. That indeed happened, but I still got dad’s phone number. My stepfather’s brother helped me reach my father. He was there in half an hour; he had never driven so fast to pick me up. My mother was devastated because I chose my father and so were my brother and sister. I went and was going to live with Dad; adrenaline rushed through my body. I was happy because I was finally with Dad, but at the same time I felt, however wrongly, guilty about how I left the home situation behind.

My father had a very different, safe family situation; I had never known such a thing. I was insecurely attached and could not handle the peace and security at all. Because of my attachment problems, I went to great lengths to see where my father’s boundaries lay. I lied about everything, because with my mother always had to. I was not allowed anything; I had to come home straight from school. My stepfather would often picket at school to see if I actually went straight home. If not, I was punished for it. I started stealing, and at a very young age I also started smoking and blowing. I used violence if I did not like something, because that was also an approach I had been taught. I was unbearable at my father’s house; he quickly enlisted help. He wanted to try to get me into an assisted living situation or into a boarding school, because he was at a loos as to what to do with me at home. I was so far gone by then that I did not care. Like my father, I too did not know what to do with the circumstances at his place. I struggled with the fact that I had been abused and neglected for the first thirteen years of my life and that screaming, violence, alcohol abuse and fighting were the only ‘norms’ and ‘values’ I had inherited. And at the same time I struggled with enormous guilt towards my mother, brother and sister: I had abandoned them in a terrible situation.

My birth father organised help and he has taken a long breath and come a long way with me. He went gray early on; I always say that that happened thanks to me and then we laugh about it together. My recovery process was a very rough ride. I have had trauma treatment and EMDR and eventually I found myself and grew into how I am today. I have chosen to do a course to guide people in similar situations or problems, namely ‘Social care for specific target groups’ with the elective ‘Experience expert’. On my way to this diploma I have learned a lot and I have gone through powerful personal growth. It was fun and educational, also in the field. It gives me a lot of energy and I am proud of the woman I am now.”

Childhood is often described as the most beautiful time of a person’s life, in which carefree play and enjoyment are paramount. Joy’s story is one of many examples of children for whom this is certainly not the case. It takes tremendous courage and perseverance to transform a situation like Joy’s. Whether a young person is unlucky or lucky with the people who appear on their personal path can make a world of difference. If there is a helping hand and a safe haven to relax and develop, someone who believes in you, healing can gently start. Joy has now completed her education and in the coming years, through her work she will make a difference for others, whose background she understands better than anyone else!
Next week we will follow up on Joy’s story and report on this week’s team meeting.

*In Duth, birthmarks are called ‘moedervlekken’, ‘mother spots’. Here, the author illustrates how her mother tried to blame literally everything on the father, her ex-partner.

Today we share with you the story of someone who has been dealing with issues related to childhood for some time now. Following a personal conversation, Jipe received from us the exercise in Compassionate Inquiry that we recently described in a blog. She decided to go to work with it and after writing a few times, she has already gained intense, but valuable insights. She shares her experience below.

“Recently I received the list of questions from Compassionate Inquiry that can bring more clarity. This is what it says at the top as an explanation: ‘A compassionate search for the inner story behind what we as humans show to the outside world with our behaviour, our visions and emotions’. That is a quest that I have been engaged in for a long time. It is a trip where I feel like I’m going round in circles and not making much progress. Intuitively I know what I want, but I cannot put it into words, let alone have an idea where to find what I want. However, the first sentence spells out exactly what I’m looking for! For the first time in all that time I see words on paper that describe exactly what I mean. I want to get my inner story clear for myself in the first place, but I also want to better understand what it is like for others around me.

Reluctantly, I started answering the six questions twice a week: what do I not say no to although I want to, what is the impact, what do I feel in my body, what is the story behind it, where did I learn those beliefs, and what would I like to say yes to? I was very hesitant to get started because I know the answers to the questions are going to turn everything I know upside down. I don’t know where that is going to lead me, how all of this will mess things up…

In the writing process I am now starting to find out what could be the explanation for the very difficult contact with one of my stepchildren. Without wanting to go into details, I can say that this relationship is dramatically bad. I never knew what it really meant to ‘hate someone’s guts’, but now I do. The anger, rage and even hatred from me towards this child are very intense. I completely block when we are near each other. Just hearing the breathing triggers disgust and defense in me. Then I prefer to run away, because I know I cannot contribute anything positive to the contact. Having no contact then feels safer and more sensible. I have always held myself accountable for that intense experience; I was ashamed of it. This is not how I want to be. I am the adult, right? Surely I should be able to put things into perspective and respond in an ‘adult’ manner?

Entering the Compassionate Inquiry process really turns things upside down. For example, I discovered that there are remarkable similarities between how my father and my one stepchild act. I don’t feel empathy from them. They seem to live in their own world, with their own truth, a world in which there is no room for any other input or other truths. In their experience, if something goes wrong, it is never their fault, but always the other person’s fault, due to how the other perceives something. I feel no comfort in their speech, no warmth in their action.

However, I am now beginning to realise that the emotions I experience with my stepchild are so intense for me mainly because they awaken painful memories of my childhood. As a child of my father, I grew up in a way that always made me doubt myself. My self-esteem often feels like almost 0, just like my belief in my own abilities: also almost 0. And when I do try something, that infamous little devil on my shoulder is screwing things up, like a creature with my father’s bad habits, his energy and attitude, a voice that names everything I fail at and makes damaging remarks… my inner critic. The wall that I feel my father has built around him… I cannot see through it.

My stepchild does not seem to have built a strong identity of their own. What I see is that many behaviours, hobbies and pastimes are copied from others who are looked up to. Things are done as others do them. I see a lot of imitation in it and very little originality. I have always struggled with lack of authenticity; that horribly gets on my nerves. This means that I find it very difficult to enter into a stable relationship. I understand where this stepchild comes from, but still the trigger is too big for me to let it slip away, see it for what it is and not take it so personally. What I observe in our interaction touches too much on the pain of the past and how things often go in contact with my father even today.

These are things that make life very complicated for me. Now that I am compassionately exploring my own story with the six questions, I get more clarity about various dynamics. It feels like a relief, almost like a happy party, that I understand where my hatred and anger come from. At the same time, it also feels frightening. That anger in me is so intense. Where should I go with it? How can I interpret it differently? How can I get rid of that rage? Can I, just like with my stepchild, also start seeing where it comes from in my father? Can I begin to feel that much was not or is not about me, but about his pain? That is the step I want to learn to take and I really want to enter into that process. Looking with compassion at the behaviour of the other person that triggers me so intensely is still too much to ask at the moment. That is why I want to start learning to look at myself with compassion, hoping to find more inner peace.”

What a beautiful reflection this is! What is very clear from Jipe’s words is that the so-called ‘shadow work’, bringing out the dark sides of your life and your personality, the aspects of it that have been suppressed, is a process that takes courage and demands and deserves attention. You will not be easily ‘done with it’ either; it takes time, along with a safe space where you are listened to, where all your emotions are allowed to be there and where they are not rejected and judged. The wounded child in the adult must be allowed to mourn and scream in anger and grief.
So when we want to raise awareness of our old pain to help heal the wound, we need people who want to be there for us. That also means that on occasion we will all be in a position where we can be that kind of person for someone else. That often functions better the more shadow work we have done ourselves, but sometimes it is precisely listening to the other that brings connection and healing.

A whole new year is ahead of us. We hope that everyone who is on a quest, dares to be vulnerable and courageous in loving contact with others in order to heal in themselves or the other what hurt. A beautiful statement that was made at a healing ceremony is this: ‘Whoever dares to look the pain in the eye, heals seven generations back and seven generations forward.’
What an opportunity to contribute to a happier world!

The lost connection with ourselves (trauma) can be very difficult to find back. Who am I really? What do I actually want? You may have developed a great sensitivity to what others think and want, but what about you…? Can you tap into your own wisdom? Can you find the courage? Do you experience buffering protection, ‘holding space’, a non-judgmental presence of someone to whom you can show your emotions, after which you can come up with your own solutions?
Does David dare to do this? Peter notes that regularly, he seems to see rejection in David’s eyes. Anja also indicates that she often does not feel the connection. They are disappointed that they get so little appreciation from Z even though they try so hard. They look for appreciation for who they are and what they do. The whole situation has a negative impact on their self-esteem, on their relationship, on their health.

The question is… where did that start, that lack of appreciation? The origin of this probably lies in what they just made visible with the layings: in the parental family they were not really allowed to be who they were. There was a lot of criticism and their self-expression was limited. Not being valued as a child has left a wound for both of them. That wound deserves healing, just as the wounds of their parents deserved healing. However, David cannot realize this for them, just as they could not do it for their parents. He is not his sparkling self, but they, too, are currently not themselves, as they have explicitly stated. A child cannot retroactively restore your own childhood. This requires different steps. A first could be that you yourself appreciate how you have done your best. You committed yourself with everything you had; what you gave, was all there was. Old pain often lives right under the surface. Sometimes it only takes a little to touch it. If David disagrees with Anja, she feels irritation and tries to justify herself, as she did to her parents. When David is displeased and screams, Peter gets a knot in his stomach and shuts down, just like he did when his dad would explode. We investigate which feeling goes with that behaviour. After mentioning some things that involve more labels and judgments, he gets to the crux: “Sadness, emptiness, loneliness.”

I explain how immature the human brain is at birth and how quickly it forms under the influence of social experiences. I tell them that especially a feeling of insecurity results in the development of a number of ‘highways’ that bring you smoothly and adequately into a survival mode, but that make it difficult to react in a balanced way and consider things carefully. The most primitive part of your brain yells ‘Alarm!’ and so that is how you react: with defense mechanisms. The more the brain is ‘marinated’ in oxytocin in early life, the more finely branched the neurological network develops and the richer your behavioural pattern. The more the emotions that arise from fear and insecurity and loneliness are depressed (depression!), the greater the chance that they will lead to damage: damage to your social functioning, to your mental well-being, to your health.

Anja says that indeed she still often feels that she has to defend herself against her parents and we discuss whether there is a question of ‘should’. Could she learn to see the way her parents try to enforce that responsibility as their way of being heard…? We conclude that there is a lot of mirroring going on between parents and children: Anja once wanted to be heard by her mother and felt unheard, probably because her mother was trying to be heard by Anja, whose job it was not and now we have a whole generation. The result: misunderstanding and miscommunication and disruption of the relationship in several directions… very sad. And yet it is important to remember that every pattern of behaviour we develop was once functional, even if it gets hopelessly in the way later on. By looking at things this way, we can develop compassion and learn to see what caused it. Then it is no longer about ‘What is wrong with you?’, but about ‘What happened to you?’, not about ‘What is your problem?’, but about ‘What is your story?’. It takes time and attention to develop this approach, but it has the potential to change everything for the better.

They tell about a health care professional who advised them not to be too hard on themselves and that they are doing just fine, but it doesn’t feel that way at all. “Recently David said: ‘I wish I wasn’t there, that I was dead’… and I’m very sorry that he feels that way…” Anja is in tears at this intense revelation. I ask if one of them recognises that feeling. Peter says: “Yes, I have been there, that feeling of… if I wasn’t there anymore, I didn’t have to do so much and I didn’t have to think all the time…”
I return to an earlier topic and ask if it is not time to tell David about the difficult IVF process, because I would not be surprised if some of his statements have to do with it. They wonder if that is not too hard for him, to which I wonder if it might still be too hard and too sad for themselves. They see how sweet and gentle he is towards babies. Having to tell him that he will never get a sibling… and then face it again… that is no small feat. Still, they want to consider it, discussing this heavy theme with him in a mature way: “He heard us talk, of course, so he may know more than we think…”

In any case, they feel that something has to change. They both find that nowadays they say too often that they do not like what he is doing, and they realise that David may translate that as “I am not lovable,” a message they do not want to give at all. I share their concern about that and say he is authentic when he says all those heavy and difficult things. The brave step they can take is to ask themselves: “What triggers me in what he says? Why is this so difficult for me?” And also: if he feels that way, can they offer holding space for that? Can they sit in the dark with him? And how long can they sit in the dark themselves? It is difficult for them to take good care of him when their own energy is so lacking. I give the example of the oxygen mask in an airplane: parents always have to put it on themselves before they help their child. This resonates and that is beautiful; some one-liners can quickly bring you back to the core at the craziest moments, without very theoretical considerations. With the help of those, they can support each other change ingrained habits.

Whatever the next steps will be… everything starts with awareness, with understanding one’s own and others’ patterns of behaviour and reaction. There is no mirror as sharp and confrontational as a child for the parents and the discontent of David is not unknown to Anja and Peter: there are many dimensions in their lives that they would like to see differently and that deserve attention. If they are constantly stressed about the things that are not going well, their whole system gets disrupted and it becomes almost impossible for them to be present for David as a co-regulating adult. They can try to get into David’s skin when things get rough: if they were in his shoes, what would they need? And perhaps they have already started doing that (after all, they approached me!) and all three have yet to kick the high adrenaline levels of the past period. The alertness of adrenaline gives the feeling that you are ‘alive’, that life is exciting, but adrenaline is also extremely addictive. When there is more calmness and time for reflection and contemplation, it almost feels more threatening than the constant stress.

Anja has meanwhile prepared a delicious lunch and we eat together after a final draw of two beautiful psychological cards that are very suitable for both. They reminisce how they got to know each other and how exciting that was, how they sent endless emails and how they were head over heels for each other.

We have talked for a long time and I have seen a lot of love and also a lot of pain and sorrow. There is much willingness in both to give and do good, to learn and to try, and at the same time there is such a high need to receive and be comforted. That makes sense, because as humans we crave meaningful connection, closeness and nurturing. I sincerely hope that we have been able to make a small start in figuring out where needs have been left unmet and can still be satisfied. We have untangled the knot to some extent and now it’s up to them to study the threads more closely.
When Anja has taken me to the train, I walk to the platform, fully absorbed in my thoughts. I am tired and grateful, sad for their old pain and hopeful for their open vulnerability.

Last week we ende with they laying of the game by Anja and Peter.
Both their layings make things visible. When Anja has reached the lucky clovers, it becomes too much for her. I’ve already seen her cheeks grow redder; I have felt her restlessness and now she is looking for my eyes. I am touched by her tears. She puts her hands in front of her face, takes a break and then, with tears in her eyes, places the emojis at the different mats. She manages to complete everything and reflect on it, just like Peter.

Peter tells how the family home used to be a connecting factor. Now that the children are adults and no longer live in that house, the bond between the family members seems lost. After the death of the grandparents, their connecting role also disappeared. Peter’s father was not born in the Netherlands and Anja has the feeling that after all these decades he still does not really feel at home here. As a family, they wonder if he hasn’t been in a depression for years. He grumbles and complains, he is lifeless, comes to nothing, drinks too much… it is a sore sight for the eyes. That may seem crazy after so many years, but when the parents lived in father’s country of origin at the beginning of their marriage, mother could not settle there either. The place we come from seems to be very deeply anchored in us and to be connected with identity, meaning and happiness in life. Does your soul continue to feel displaced in an unknown place? Or is that sense of displacement connected to a soul that may have been wandering from childhood already due to insecure attachment? Father’s psychosis at the end of Peter’s puberty was intense for him: Peter could not accept a weak father. He distanced himself from his father, but instead took on a caring role in the family. Looking back, he feels he fell short in that role – relationships are under strain.

I mention that he took on a responsibility that was not intended for him and that he may look back with leniency at how he tried to the best of his ability to fulfill a task that belonged to his father. Such a role reversal is called parentification, based on the word ‘parent’. They’ve never really talked about it in the family: “All of us are not much of a talker, not really talking, I mean… but my mother is getting tired of it now after years of swallowing his behaviour. I love him dearly and I realise he has been through a lot, but right now, he is screwing everything up. He is slipping away and my youngest sister and I have a really hard time with that. At Anja’s house, things were right, but not at our house.” He tells that his mother and eldest sister are hiding their frustration more. Personally, I find it quite moving that he is having such a hard time with it. It shows that his heart is wide open, that he is touched by what is not going well, that he is now even in tears when explaining the situation. It is so beautiful when people can cry. It has a cleansing effect; it creates space, it cleans, it discharges – and so it takes away stress, too. Sadness is a pure emotion, which is close to your core.

Anja and Peter talk about how differently they experience Peter’s father’s drinking. Peter grew up with it, but Anja didn’t. Her home situation was very different: “Was our home situation right for us then? I don’t know… My parents were always loving and my mother was home with tea and biscuits; it was stable and warm at home. I went through a period where I went the wrong way, had wrong friends, met wrong guys. I also had bulimia during that time, but my parents were always loving. They did, however, have a lot of criticism and I often felt unseen. There was much judgment and disapproval; there was misunderstanding and arguing about decisions I made or things I wanted. I ran away, I did drugs, I lied about where I was, but I was always allowed to come back. I feel a lot of guilt about what I did to my parents. It seems terrible to me, if you have a daughter who does that; I felt sorry for my parents. I don’t think they ever argued and were always nice to each other. Sports and exercise and dancing were my outlet, but I have been in search of myself for a long time. I was happy, but also angry and sad. I did many things secretly, because of all the strictness and meddling; I was very recalcitrant because of their constant looking over my shoulder.” She falls silent with shock and is again in tears as she wonders aloud in a broken voice: “Maybe I do the same with David now…” She sobs and says with fear in her voice that she is afraid she has already ruined him: “The seed you are planting now will grow with him the rest of his life. I don’t want things to have gone wrong already, because at school he is a very happy and enthusiastic boy…”

She has already expressed a lot of negative qualifications about herself and at one point I ask her what her definition of ‘loving’ is. She says it means to her that she could always return home, that she was always welcome, despite all the pranks she played. I try to rephrase what she has said: “What you are saying sounds like you mean that even though you were a misfit, not good enough, they still accepted you.” She nods; that is indeed what she means. I indicate that that feeling of not being good enough also originated somewhere and is probably much older. She thinks, nods slowly and says, “Yeah… I think that has to do with them always criticizing everything…”

This is a nice insight. I tell them that almost all parents guide their children to the best of their ability, but that some have only a limited toolbox to provide that guidance from. When parents themselves are also burdened by their life history, children sometimes have to bear an invisible intergenerational trauma burden. That ‘not being good enough’ can then become a very deep conviction, accompanied by guilt and shame. A child can experience guilt towards the parents, but could parents also feel guilty towards their children…? And one step further: could we let go of all judgments, especially those about ourselves? Can we learn to look at it differently, with more compassion? Can we understand that a lot of behaviour is not chosen, but presents itself almost automatically, from those old survival patterns?

We talk about the relationship between attachment and authenticity, about all kinds of behaviour that you could describe as addiction and that often aim to create a feeling of recognition and satisfaction. This reduces stress and allows our system to relax. The problem is that many addictions have all kinds of negative consequences in the long run. Those who feel insufficiently heard and seen in their own social context will try to satisfy the need for recognition in another environment. The things that are done to achieve this (for example, working hard, performing in sports, excelling in a hobby, smoking or drinking or using drugs) are in themselves a risk factor for stress and misery. This will put you in a very negative spiral. You dive into survival strategies, but actually you’re working towards your demise. Addictions usually have loneliness and lack of meaning as underlying pain. Peter’s father is a living example of this and Anja and Peter are currently also having a hard time finding their way up.

We notice that Anja and Peter are both struggling to get their lives back in line with how they would like it to be. They feel stuck in the situation and don’t know how to get out of it. We discuss how you can be stuck as a child without being able to get out because you are dependent on parental care. Once an adult you have other options: you can leave. There are many things you can change. However, that is not always easy. Many children suppress their authenticity from an early age because they feel that it puts pressure on the attachment relationship with their parents. That is an adequate response at that stage, but you lose the deep connection with yourself – the core of what we call trauma.