Eye-contact

It is customary, at the beginning of any therapeutic relationship, that the counselor and client do some sort of intake session. An intake is meant to be a 10,000 foot view of someone’s life to get a better idea of what they may need moving forward. Is the person in crisis? Are there presenting issues pointing to signifiant mental illness? Some family history? Are they taking medication? Cat person? Dog person? You’re asking general questions with the expectation of broad-stroke answers. While it can take months to truly get to know someone, an intake session helps the therapist find some footing, so one knows what immediate steps (if any) are to be taken. As someone who has sat in both the therapist’s chair and the client couch, it’s unsettling to open up to a complete stranger, regardless if it’s a therapeutic setting. This is especially the case, when an intake moves into sensitive territory; when one is asked about their “wounds.” While it would be strange to lead with that kind of language, it’s essentially what the therapist is getting at, and this is probably unpleasant for the client. Like muscle reflex, we go into protection mode, where we water down and withhold the full extent of what brought us to get some help in the first place. It might go something like this….

“I know this is a sensitive question, and by all means, please share to your comfort level, but its helpful for me to understand if you have experienced any kind of abuse in your life?”

“Hmmmm, not that I can think of.” Or maybe, “Yea, but it was so long ago.” Or, “I’m not sure if you would call this abuse but….”

To be fair, some people come to counseling for very specific reasons, which don’t always entail working through wounds, but answers along those lines are fairly common.

Sometimes, if there was abuse that was noted, the description is usually vague, cryptic, and dissociated as if it’s a story of someone else’s life. This disconnect is quite natural and actually to be expected. If someone dove deep into their trauma with reckless abandon, that might lead to a different set of questions. Why would they tell me, within the first 30 minutes of meeting, the most ugly parts of their story? It is quite possible that the individual is well aware of the kind of wounds they have experienced, and there is apprehension, as trust has not yet developed. It is also quite possible that there is no frame of reference for the wound, and there has been no realization of how much weight has been carried around all these years. Maybe they have forgotten. Maybe it was in their best interest to forget. Yes, the wounds are certainly ‘stored’ in their neurobiology (we’ll save that for another blog post), but they are out of touch, and we all develop the savvy to keep those experiences pinned down. What’s both good and bad news, is the soul will tell us when that coping no longer works. Our unaddressed wounds shrink our window of tolerance for everyday life, and we begin to notice that something isn’t quite right.

Most of us don’t understand our wounds, and if human behavior is the tip of the iceberg, then chipping away at the unexplored mass of what’s beneath the surface is an invitation to both clarity and healing. As a Christian, there has been no shortage of encouragement to acknowledge both my weakness and wickedness; both elements of the human condition that need to be taken very seriously. But very little credence is given to one’s woundedness (Cusick, 2012). It’s last in line when it comes to explaining someone’s sin. Weakness puts me in a posture of dependence on God and others, which is certainly reflective of the Imago Dei, and falls in line with the human experience. Wickedness, though the term reeks of hellfire and brimstone, draws attention to my capacity to inflict suffering, because I am both intrinsically good, and intrinsically defiant. We are both heroes and monsters and a quick glance at our life will show evidence of both. On the other hand, exploring one’s woundedness is often seen as self-indulgent, naval-gazing; an exercise in self-pity. After all, this is America where there are bootstraps to be pulled on, bygones to let go of, things to conquest and opportunities to be had. We simply don’t have time to look into these things, as our value is measured in our performance and productivity. We have kids. We have jobs. For many Christians, we have so conditioned ourselves to stay away from blame, that we have lost the ability to assess what has actually happened in our stories. If there is any blaming going on, we blame ourselves, our weakness, our wickedness, the usual suspects, and we try to solve the problem or simply distract ourselves. The author and therapist Michael John Cusick says that “owning our wounds is not about blame, it’s about accounting for the damage that has occurred (Cusick, 2012).” To put it even more simply, it’s about honesty. State the facts, and maybe we’ll be lucky enough to eventually ‘metabolize’ those facts. This is a daunting task and it also takes quite some time, once we find the humility to become archaeologists of our own lives.

The stakes in this game are high. If we are to be holistically healthy people, and impact the world in meaningful ways, we must acknowledge the wounds of our lives. Michael John Cusick goes on to say that “wounds that are not transformed become wounds that are transmitted (Cusick, 2012).” In other words, don’t be surprised by generational patterns of toxic behavior that are damaging to ‘all people involved.’

Back to the iceberg.

If I find myself in the throws of an addiction (a behavior) because the pain of dealing with my abuse is too great, this will undoubtedly inflict heartache and damage on my loved ones. I may even become an abuser myself. If my parent’s form of discipline was brutal and angry, then my anxiety and need for control as an adult will seep its way into the lives of others. If my childhood gifts were ignored, or even squashed, and there was constant critique, then my shame manifested as perfectionism, will be exhausting to others. And while these are just off-the-cuff examples, I believe they ring true. With an 80% degree of certainty, we know that the attachment style of an adult will predict the same attachment patterns of their own children, as long as those unhealthy attachment patterns of the parent go unaddressed (Thompson, 2010). The apple that doesn’t fall too far from the tree is literally true. For those of us wanting to leave a good legacy on this earth, we need to pay attention to this. We do this for our own freedom, as well as the freedom of others.

But how do we start?

During my graduate work at Denver Seminary, it wasn’t uncommon for the professor to ask a student to open up a class with a quick prayer. These were always prayers that would check the right boxes….”bless our discussion.” “We’re grateful for this institution of higher learning.” “Thank you for the opportunity to be here.” Don’t make it weird. Don’t ruffle anyone’s feathers with a prayer this early in the morning was the general sentiment. On a certain day, a certain prayer was spoken by a student that made me want to hide. It was far from offensive or theologically incorrect. In fact it was so genuine, intimate and simple that it caught me completely off guard. The student simply opened by saying: “God, help us to make eye-contact with You.”

Eye-contact? What does that even mean? I have a stoic, German background and I don’t do intimacy well. Why don’t you get up and use the restroom. Maybe refill your coffee. Run!

While everyone may have absorbed those words differently, in that moment I felt an invitation to experience an unmatched and unwavering approval in who I was. I thought about my difficulty looking people in the eye. I thought about all the masks I wear, to protect myself from the my own ‘stuff.’ Eye contact with God means complete transparency and complete exposure, and he is not surprised by our behavior. What’s more, is it was an invitation to take a look at my inner-life. To not place blame, but to assess what happened. To find the courage to just state the facts, and then with some continued eye-contact, find some freedom from that shame attendant that whispers in my ear a 100 times a day, subconsciously reminding me that i’m a fraud. It was eye-contact with myself today, but also my 9 year-old, 14 year-old, and 23 year-old self. That’s how you start…..honesty.

So how does this story end? Does this actually pay-off? I’ll put it this way. I’ve never heard anyone regret digging into their inner life and owning the things that have brought them pain. Michael John Cusick, who was quoted above, has written and spoken extensively about his life, to the point that it seems he has no secrets. He was sexually abused as a child, and through a complicated series of life experiences (to put it simply), developed a debilitating sex addiction that spanned years. Infidelity in his marriage, shame to his professional and personal reputation, etc. etc. Cusick’s double life was found out, and it set the table for the restoration of everything that had gone awry, by his own choices and also the choices of others, towards him. He waded into the waters of his inner life and processed the abuse. He processed the desire-gone-mad. He got counseling. He got mentors. Read books. Took care of his body. Learned how to breath, and the behavior started to make more sense. Today, Cusick is one of the leading voices on the dynamics of sexual addiction, and even soul-care in general. Ask him if it was worth it. Ask him if he was worth it, because one of the most common lies we believe is that we are not. God says that we are worth it, and we should listen to Him.

Thompson, C. (2010). Anatomy of the Soul. Carrol Stream, IL: Tyndale House Publishers

Cusick, M. J. (2012). Surfing for God. Nashville, TN: Thomas Nelson.