Opinion: We are all captives

Issue of September 18, 2009/ 29 Elul 5769 Recently, the national media was drawn to the story of Jaycee Dugard, the victim of a decades-long kidnapping. But in a story-behind-the-story, the NY Times reported that although Jaycee suffered sexual abuse, neglect and emotional manipulation — to an extent hard to imagine — therapists say the biggest challenge facing Ms. Dugard might be switching families. Her captor was her primary relationship, and the father of her two children and “separation may be difficult for all of them,” said one child expert. “...[I]t is an extreme version of a phenomenon that is really not that uncommon: a child engaged in an abusive relationship when young and, not knowing any better, coming to accept it as their life, adapting as best they can,” offered another expert. Obviously, this is a horrifically extreme case and cases like these will always attract attention, but how do we account for the intensity of interest? The San Jose Mercury News reports that tele-diva Oprah Winfrey wants to interview Dugard. “I want that interview,” she was quoted as saying emphatically. “This is the one that I want.” How do you explain the fascination? Even given the unusualness of the case, many seem to identify with Jaycee. Yes, in a subtle sense we may all be prisoners — prisoners of our experiences, to be precise. Not only are we prisoners, but even when we are free, we still (unconsciously) attach to our psychological captors. The philosopher John Paul Sartre once famously remarked that we are condemned to be free. We don’t always want to be free. This brings to mind a famous parable quoted by Rabbenu Yona in Shaarei Teshuva about a group of robbers who were imprisoned by the king. They dug a tunnel out of their cell and escaped, but one of the group remained. The warden came and saw that there was a tunnel dug and yet this one man remained. He struck him with his staff. “Imbecile,” the warden said. “How is it that a tunnel is dug in front of your eyes and you did not quickly escape?” Nearly every day we are offered escape routes, but we won’t take them. We seem profoundly attached to the prisons of our past experiences, mistakes, even sins. This may be one of the reasons that we repeat the past. We repeat the good and we repeat the bad, but we repeat. We are in a sense, at least when it comes to the bad, repeat offenders. We ingeniously take the present and turn into a repetition of our early life and it seems to be beyond our control even as we do it. For example, a relative of mine, Eric*, is cheap as the day is long. I knew his father, a Holocaust survivor, very well. He was a tailor from Lodz, Poland. He constantly was patching up his son’s old clothes, counted the minutes that his son spent using hot water in the shower and would charge him for phone calls that Eric would make. When Eric would reach across the table to take a hunk of bread, his father would whack him. Yet, this horrific treatment only served to slightly dim the fierce father-son attachment. Now more than 20 years after his father’s death, Eric is unfortunately as close to his father as he ever was. Already on his third marriage, each of his relationships has been disfigured by his cheapness. I remember that his first wife was “forbidden” to have any household help even though she had given birth just that week. At the same time, Eric is a marvelously creative, successful, and honest human being. A friend of mine who I met in a psychological training group is a talented, capable man and would seem to be a natural leader. He is personable, smart and projects confidence. Yet despite these obvious qualities he says, “My life is like a haiku poem with two words: second place. No matter what I do, say, or even how hard I try, I always come in second. This is my fate,” he says, baring the hurt just beneath his exquisite good nature. Over time in the group, it emerged that his father, who raised him and loved him, was competitive beyond measure. When they would play ball, the father had to win. He had to be the one to throw the ball harder, faster and farther. As if this weren’t enough, in nearly every situation and interaction, dad had to show his superiority. My friend was an adored and loved boy but with one unspoken condition: he must remain forever a pretender, never a contender. Nor is the compulsion to repeat confined to the negative. A man I know is a ba’al tzedakah — very charitable — but not by “choice.” His father, a Polish Jew, became very rich in the button business, and loved to give away money. Various people, from ne’er do wells to illustrious rabbis, came to him for donations. They would stream in to his office every working day, all day, and receive monetary gifts large and small, and make great displays of gratefulness. There wasn’t a cause that his father didn’t like, from the rinky-dink to august museums and universities. When his father died, he felt “compelled” to live his father’s life and continued this worthy but rather odd form of daily theater. He is a warm and wonderful human being who takes pleasure in philanthropy, but there is an unstated shadowy depression that hangs over him. It is possible that this “depressive shadow” may have something to do with his addiction to painkillers. He would do well to “look” at himself, but instead he just goes on automatic. It makes you think: why bother going forward if our past is our only future? Don’t despair. There are ways to avoid repetition, but it’s not easy. If you can afford to, you can hire someone to review your life with you and bring it down to slow-motion frames. This is commonly known as psychoanalysis or psychoanalytically oriented psychotherapy. When you catch the repetition in progress, if you talk about it enough, you can turn the ship around even in rough waters. The Yetzer Hora is a skilled and nearly implacable foe, but when all efforts are marshaled against him, he can be tamed. *Names and some identifying details have been changed Dr. Simon Yisroel Feuerman is the Director of the New Center for Advanced Psychotherapy Studies (NCAPS) and a Professor of Psychology at Kean University.