A Psychodynamic Session
The two main characters in the novel, Dylan Steffan, 34, and his cousin Yale Pendry, 24, experience what Dr. Stanislav Grof calls the psychodynamic level of human consciousness.
Boulder
January 1, 1974
Yale grasps hold of Grof’s view of the psychodynamic realm of consciousness much faster than I do. Yale will complete his master’s in psychology here in Boulder at the end of this semester. We both seem ready to explore the psychodynamic domain, with a boost from psychedelics.
We set ourselves up again with two recliners, several floor pillows, and art books. This time we add fruits and nuts. We wear comfortable clothes like last time. And we bring in the same music, adding Rachmaninoff and Scriabin.
We take our psilocybin.
About 25 minutes later, Yale is clearly having a rough time. I remind him that “psychedelics can intensify our personality traits and behavior patterns, including the bad ones. We can have more feelings of inferiority, worthlessness, or guilt. But we don’t have to stay there. We can move our state of mind up.”
“Can you analyze me?” Yale asks.
“No,” I tell him gently. “First, I’m not your psychiatrist or your therapist. Second, psychedelic sessions can be ruined by verbal therapy techniques, explanations, and intellectual analysis.”
“Okay. I’m sure you’re right.” He returns to ruminating. I change the music to something less tragically dramatic than Rachmaninoff. After a few minutes of Mozart, Yale is smiling.
“I feel tranquil, serene. Wow! What an extraordinary sense of well-being!”
“Yes, indeed.” Eyes closed, I’m again seeing the fantastic display of incredibly colorful geometrical visions in rapid kaleidoscopic sequences. It’s an exquisite visual feast.
When we walk outside we both look at a rose with spellbinding awe. We contemplate the life flowing through it. But we realize we might attract unwanted attention and head back inside.
A few minutes pass. Yale’s getting more uncomfortable. “I’m reliving some of the conversations I had with Mom.”
“Cousin Francesca,” I say. “She was a little hard on you.”
“I always felt Mom liked my sister Meredith better.”
I reflect on my own experience. “I thought that my dad liked Bronwyn better, but I didn’t think it all the time, just once in a while. He did compare me to Bronwyn a lot, tell me I should have all A’s like Bronwyn, excel in afterschool activities like Bronwyn. Why did you think it so often?”
Yale gets a bit more keyed up about the issue. “Mom gave more attention to Meredith. She asked me a lot why I couldn’t be well-behaved like Meredith. That got to me, and it gave Meredith the upper hand in dealings with our mother. Mom criticized me too much and made me feel guilty too often. She disapproved of my rowdy personality, and that was hard to take, cause I think I was just being a regular boy.”
“Some criticizing is necessary in parenting but it’s rough to be criticized way too much. You think it harmed you?”
“My self-esteem suffered,” Yale says. “That’s why I overcompensate, act overly confident. I tried to be liked a little more by pointing out anything Meredith did wrong, and I acted out by taunting and needling Meredith much more than I should have.”
“All this is mild neurosis. Nothing to be too worried about.”
“I see how this makes me fear being one-upped or fear not being able to distinguish myself. I always want to stand out and get attention. And I need validation and reassurance much more often than I should.”
“You and I are both over-achievers, Yale, striving for perfection. We unconsciously think that if we try harder, someone will love us more than our parents did. And in your case, your dad the pilot and your mom the stewardess left you with Ren and Vera half the time. You really struggled to understand your place in this world.”
“That wasn’t my parents’ fault. They had their flights, their work schedules.”
“I hope you didn’t feel rejected by your mother.”
“No. Just less loved, less respected. Just treated as less. Probably why I overreact to criticism from my girlfriends.”
“So you overcompensate. That’s how it works.”
“I’m on guard, expecting to be criticized, especially by women, and I overreact when I’m criticized.”
“I have no doubt that your mother loved you,” I say. “It’s ideal when parents love their children equally. If she loved and favored Meredith just a little more, that’s quite forgivable, eh?”
“I forgive her,” he says after a moment. “Just trying to remedy the hit to my self-esteem, my self-image.”
“Go the opposite direction,” I suggest. “Welcome criticism. Invite criticism. Ask people questions like, ‘How could I do this more perfectly?’ or ‘How could I be more perfect at that in your eyes?’ When you phrase it that way people tend to open up and be honest with you. And then you can improve.”
“See criticism as just a step in improving.”
“Yes.”
“Very good advice.”
I smile. “You aren’t stuck anymore. I can feel it. You don’t have to respond in the same blind and mechanical and rigid way to criticism. You can respond appropriately, using criticism for your growth and development. You can change your behavior pattern.”
“I’ll do that, Dylan.”
“And take notice of how people are usually friendly. Choose to feel secure. Most of the time we can have reciprocally open and sincere and positive interactions with people. Let that tension out of your mind and body. See how criticism can be valuable, stop being on guard against criticism, and relax and enjoy each day a lot more.”
“Perfect. That’s exactly what I’ll do.”
“See, I did what I said I shouldn’t do.”
“Act like my therapist? It’s okay. The verbal exchange didn’t get in the way of my breakthrough. It helped facilitate it. And you can use your knowledge of psychology to help your cousin. It’s allowed.”
“As for you,” I reply, “if sibling rivalry was your only issue, your neurosis is pretty damn mild, Cousin. Cheer up. You’ve had a blessed life.”
Half an hour later, though, Yale is struggling even more. He moves to the floor, lays down by the pillows, and lets out some groans. I sit beside him to help things from getting more difficult for him than he can handle.
“It’s about my father, Owen Pendry,” he says. “He was so harsh. Why was he so harsh?”
He groans some more. “I was a defenseless child. He never hit me, never struck me. But he might as well have. He put me down so often – attacked me with words. ‘You’re not measuring up, son.’ ‘You are falling short, son.’ ‘You lack the self-discipline it takes to make a success of yourself in life.’ ‘How are you going to amount to anything if you don’t better develop your character?’”
“He was relentlessly hard on you, in my view,” I say. “I saw it, heard it, was disturbed by the way he talked to you, even in front of guests like me.”
“I’m devastated,” Yale says. “No wonder I have such shallow relationships with women. And why I’m too apathetic about them. I drive them away because I feel flawed, defective.”
“Stay with it,” I tell him. “What else? What else did he make you feel?”
“Inadequate. Ashamed. Inferior. Hopeless.”
“You didn’t deserve to be treated like that, Yale.”
He tears up.
“Go deeper. What’s beneath the shame?”
“Anger. I’m frickin’ anger.”
“Let it out. Tell your dad what you feel.”
“Dad, you screwed me up!” Yale shouts. “You were a terrible father!”
I let more time pass while he processes more of his anger. “What’s underneath your anger?”
His tears flow freely. “The hurt.”
“That’s right, Cousin,” I say. “Stay with the hurt.”
Awhile later Yale puts one hand over his chest and the other over his stomach. Awhile later he moves his hand up to his neck, his throat, and then to his mouth. Suddenly his mouth opens, he moans in agony for a while, and finally he lets out a scream.
A few minutes later he’s sitting up. I sense that the tension’s left his body. “How do you feel now?”
He stands up. “A lot less hostile. Like I no longer have a chip on my shoulder. No longer need proof that I’m loved. No longer feel that if I achieve enough, I will be loved. I’m healthier. Freer. The healthiest and freest I’ve ever felt.”
Janov and Grof have taken me onto similar terrain – so far. Now, in achieving my mission, my leading, I can tap into what Janov and Grof have taught me about the psychodynamic level of human consciousness and about healing trauma. And these will be essential to my work at providing maximum help to my clients.