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This is written for someone who has experienced the death of a friend or family member by an unnatural dying—accident, suicide, or homicide. Helpful information is included in a condensed and organized way so you can find what you need quickly. Another reason for brevity is our determination to present accurate information. This is not the place for complex theory or explicit instructions that tell you what you should or should not do. In our view, it would be misleading to promise short-term answers to something so overwhelming. Instead we emphasize that one should not be burdened by the expectation that they will quickly recover. Recovery suggests regaining who you were before the death. You will probably be changed by this event and will spend the rest of your life accommodating to what has happened; unnatural dying of a friend or family member is the sort of life change that will change you. |
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The Uniqueness of Unnatural DyingWhen someone close dies, it is natural to mourn their loss—to think of them with sorrow and miss their presence in your life. If they died from a natural death (from disease or old age), then the dying would be understandable. One could understand what was going wrong in their body and why they couldn’t be saved—and if the natural dying went on for weeks, months, or years, you would have time to adjust to what was happening and could begin to say goodbye. This is not the case with unnatural dying; when someone close dies an unnatural death, you not only mourn their loss but are forced to adjust to the unnatural way that they died. It is a double blow: not only have they died, but the way they died is senseless. Unnatural dying is abrupt, and traumatic. There is no time for goodbye. Unnatural dying contains unique dimensions that make it different than natural dying: Violence—The dying is injurious and often mutilating. These three V’s of unnatural dying (violence, violation and volition) give a different meaning to death. Family members may not quietly and peacefully accept what has happened. Even if they wanted solitude and tranquility, their surrounding community would not allow it. There will be an immediate response for the media and police whenever an unnatural death occurs. This demands a thorough investigation to document how this happened, who was responsible, and punishment that promises redemption. Unfortunately, this social response promises more than it delivers. Family members have no choice—they must cooperate with the media, the police and sometimes the courts. Obviously this is not fair. It is already “too much” to accept such a dreaded dying. It is hard enough to remain resilient and stable without the media and police questioning—questions that often suggest that the victim was somehow at fault for what happened. Besides, these are questions you would be bound to seek answers for yourself—this is a part of the never-ending search for meaning to the dying. Early Response To An Unnatural DeathThere seems to be at least two distinct reactions to unnatural dying: the first and most primary is traumatic distress to the unnatural dying and a second, underlying response is separation distress to the loss of the relationship. To illustrate the descriptive differences, the distress patterns are listed below. |
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Traumatic DistressThought Reenactment of dying Feelings Terror Behavior Avoidance of reminders of the dying Protection of self and others |
Separation DistressReunion with the deceased Pining and Sorrow Searching |
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Trauma distress is the stronger and more immediate response. In the initial days or weeks after an unnatural death, it is common to avoid the reality of the dying—to be enveloped in a numbness that cannot admit to what has happened. This protective numbness is challenged by a reconstruction of the way that the person died. Often, our minds construct events in the form of a story with a beginning, middle, and an end. The story of an unnatural dying, even though it was not witnessed, may become an intense and terrifying reenactment. This reenactment story of the dying often includes the last thoughts, feelings and behaviors of the person who died. Even though you weren’t there, your imagination of what your loved one experienced may become a dreaded replay or reenactment. During the initial weeks of adjustment, these reenactment fantasies may occur on a daily basis, and also recur as nightmares at night. These reenactments make it difficult to concentrate because of the accompanying terror that you and other family members are now at risk for an unnatural dying as well. It is the persistence of this traumatic story of the unnatural dying for many months that may distort your view of the world as no longer safe, trustworthy, or caring. Intertwined with this initial response of trauma distress are waves of separation distress. In most instances, the permanent loss and separation from the relationship is a major disruption. A close friend or family member is an important part of your own identity and in losing them; you lose a part of yourself. It is difficult to begin accepting the finality of this loss until your mind is less preoccupied with the terrible fantasies of the dying. Acceptance of the loss will be delayed until your mind is able to calm and divert itself. Separation distress follows the realization that your friend or family member will never return as a tangible, physical presence. If you have an established religious or spiritual belief system, the permanency of this loss will be softened by the promise of continual spiritual existence and reunion at the time of your own spiritual release with death. But that belief system will only serve to soften the despair, and place it in a more hopeful context. It will not allow the total denial of your loved one’s “here and now” absence. Just as the mind composes stories of the trauma of the dying, so it creates stories about separation. With separation distress, the theme of the story is different from traumatic reenactment: most commonly, the theme involves an intense fantasized reunion with the lost person. The image of the deceased becomes a persistent figure in one’s mind and there is a strong yearning for their return and a reconstructive fantasy of rescue and repair. The yearning often involves an active “searching”—to places (including the grave site) associated with the deceased and an involuntary visual scanning for their face in a crowd, or an anticipation of hearing their voice when you return home. Your mind is acutely alert for any sign of their presence and the fantasy that once found, you will comfort them and protest that they no longer put you through something so traumatic again! ExceptionsA minority of individuals will experience little, if any, trauma or separation distress. They respond with a stoicism and grudging acceptance of this tragedy. While stoicism may be followed by a delayed response of grief months or years later, this is a rare occurrence. Long-term study of stoic responders suggests that stoicism is a favorable sign and should not be challenged. Adjusting to an unnatural death does not always mean the acknowledgement and expression of traumatic or separation distress. Not everyone cries or struggles with fantasies. It is best to respect the uniqueness of any response and not expect that others experience what you are experiencing—especially other members of your family. An even rarer explanation of muted or absence of distress is when the deceased was burdensome, hated, or feared. Under these circumstances, their death may be followed by a sense of relief more than distress. This relief is difficult to share with others and may cause some secondary guilt or shame because, “I am feeling relieved that this person can’t make me suffer any more.” Under these circumstances, relief is a natural feeling. ComplicationsThere are several factors that are associated with very intense and prolonged responses of trauma and separation distress—distress that will last for many months and will handicap functioning at work or at home:
When Does Distress Become a Disorder?The difference between distress and disorder has major implications for management. Distress refers to a nonspecific pattern of subjective signs and symptoms of discomfort that last for a short time, have a minor affect on one’s functioning, and spontaneously disappear without treatment. The majority of individuals who are coping with an unnatural death match this definition. A significant minority of individuals who have experienced an unnatural death of a friend or family member will develop a psychiatric disorder within the first year after the death (estimates range from 25% for depression to 40% for anxiety disorders). Unlike distress, a disorder presents with a predictable syndrome of specific and objective signs and symptoms that last for a much longer period of time (months or years), have a major impact on function for which specific treatment has been developed. The two psychiatric disorders that are commonly associated with complicated or unrecovered grief are major depressive disorders and anxiety disorders. These disorders are defined by the process of self-report interviews and psychiatric examination. There is no objective laboratory or pathologic test that will define a psychiatric disorder. Other sorts of tests define diseases (like diabetes or cancer) where there are measurable, physical changes. Instead, psychiatric disorder is defined by the presence of sufficient signs and symptoms to meet rigorous criteria for the diagnosis. Listed below are the criteria for major depressive disorder and the type of anxiety disorder (posttraumatic stress disorder) most commonly associated with trauma. Major Depressive DisorderFive (or more) of the following symptoms have been present during the same two week period and represent a change from previous functioning; at least one of the symptoms is either (1) depressed mood or (2) loss of interest or pleasure.
The symptoms cause clinically significant distress or impairment in social, occupational, or other important areas of functioning. The symptoms are not due to the direct physiological effects of a substance (e.g., a drug of abuse, a medication) or a general medical condition (e.g., hypothyroidism). The symptoms are not better accounted for by bereavement, i.e., after the loss of a loved one, the symptoms persist for longer than 2 months or are characterized by marked functional impairment, morbid preoccupation with worthlessness, suicidal ideation, psychotic symptoms, or psychomotor retardation. Posttraumatic Stress DisorderThe person has been exposed to a traumatic event in which both of the following were present:
The traumatic event is persistently reexperienced in one (or more) of the following ways:
Persistent avoidance of stimuli associated with the trauma and numbing of general responsiveness (not present before the trauma), as indicated by three (or more) of the following:
Persistent symptoms of increased arousal (not present before the trauma), as indicated by two (or more) of the following:
Duration of the disturbance is more than one month. The disturbance causes clinically significant distress or impairment in social, occupational, or other important areas of functioning. If you meet criteria for one or both of these disorders, consultation with a mental health professional is strongly advised. Prospective studies of family members during the first year of bereavement show that 25% of subjects will meet criteria for major depressive disorder and 40% will meet criteria for anxiety disorder (and many family members have both major depressive and anxiety disorders at the same time). ManagementThere is no definitive treatment for bereavement after an unnatural death. Beware of anyone who claims certainty about what should or should not be done. Respect the uniqueness of your own response and search out the sort of support that meets your own needs. With the sensitive encouragement of family, friends, work associates, and spiritual support, most individuals will spontaneously improve. Their distress will linger for many years (particularly at commemorative times—birthdays, anniversaries, or the specific time of the year when the person died) but these responses of distress will no longer be so intense nor so preoccupying and the memory of the deceased will be more tranquil and positive. Psychological SupportThis form of assistance has the clearly defined, short-term goals of restoring one’s sense of self-esteem, safety, and confidence of recovery in the future. The essential components for support are a trusting relationship, clear and concise information about the crisis, a nonjudgmental acceptance of responses, and a realistic and reassuring preparation for the future. Support is inherent in most families, friendships, and social and religious groups who offer support during the early phase of bereavement. For most, a month or two of this intense concern and attention is sufficient, but for those who need longer term support, it is surprising to realize how impatient and intolerant the surrounding support figures can become. Support GroupsSupport groups offer free care. Most major metropolitan areas contain groups of family members and friends who meet to support one another after an unnatural death. These groups offer a particularly relevant resource in that all members have experienced the same form of traumatic loss. Members are able to empathize readily with one another. Leaders and member of the group are especially well informed regarding:
Individual PsychotherapySome individuals remain distressed for several months after the death and are more comfortable in individual counseling. Finding an appropriate individual therapist may be challenging. A minority of therapists have been trained in the management of complicated, unnatural death recovery. A knowledgeable therapist will recognize that trauma distress leads to more dysfunction than separation distress. The presence of recurrent reenactment imagery and feelings of intense fear are strongly associated with the need for treatment. Once treatment begins, it is this trauma distress that takes priority in management. If the individual therapist is unaware of this need, therapy may reach a sudden impasse of heightened frustration, resistance, and termination. Family TherapyThe unnatural death of a family member may have significant impact on the relationships between family members. Since the family system is a primary source of support during recovery, it may be helpful to have one or several family sessions. The objective of these sessions will be supportive—to allow family members to clarify how they are dealing with this tragedy and reinforce the acceptance and respect for individual differences. The entire family will be traumatized by the death. This is not the time to deal with long-standing issues of conflict. An inexperienced family therapist may create the same scenario of heightened frustration, resistance, and termination if they fail to deal directly with the shared traumatic distress. MedicationsThe use of medications during bereavement challenges some commonly held beliefs:
Recent studies citing the use of medications during the first year or two of bereavement disprove these absolute assumptions. The reader will recall our promise that we would not become imperative in our recommendations: we are not recommending that medications should always be considered with bereavement after an unnatural death. Their use is indicated for a distinct minority (those with diagnosed disorders of depression and anxiety) and are an addition to on-going psychotherapy. Studies have shown that medications will not supersede or replace therapy because they are selective in only relieving depression and anxiety—they have no direct effect on the distress of separation or trauma. This would suggest that the management of complicated grief reactions that did not include supportive therapy or individual therapy would be negligent and incomplete. Basics About MedicationsThis is not the place to present detailed information about medicines for sleeping, anxiety, or depression. Those details should await your decision to try medications. The consulting physician can present information about the specific medication at the time it is prescribed. However, there are some basic underlying principles that will reassure you of their use:
E.K. Rynearson, M.D. is cofounder and medical director of Separation & Loss Services/Homicide Support at Virginia Mason Medical Center, Seattle Washington. Through his career-long work with family members and friends who have lost a loved one due to unnatural death, he has developed the Restorative Retelling Group approach to treatment. Dr. Rynearson is the author of Retelling Violent Death. He is a member of Gift From Within's Professional Advisory Board and the Director of the Mason Dart Trauma Project headquarted in Seattle, WA. |
As I write about spousal victimization I realize three very different audiences will read these words. First are those who are victims; second are those who were victims; third are those concerned enough to care and to learn and to help, but never victimized themselves. Since the word, victim, carries connotations and associations that some find degrading, I use it with misgivings. Once victim meant a living being sacrificed to the gods and the word implied innocence and virtue. Now our victor-oriented culture disparages the victim, blames the victim, ostracizes, isolates and condemns. Who desires the label, victim ?
Nevertheless, many readers are living with violent, abusive spouses and are enduring repetitive victimization. You deserve dignity, freedom from fear and compassionate acceptance by your community. You are not to blame. I hope your victim status will soon end.
Those readers who are no longer abused, who have escaped and survived, and who realize they were victims once, are the hope for a sea-change in spousal relations. You know how paralyzing the fear of the family tyrant can be; you know how difficult and dangerous the path to freedom can be; you know how frustrating is to debate those who perpetuate the status quo, often encrusting their ignorance in a shell of arrogant misogyny. I hope you will prevail, maintaining your own gains, helping others escape, persuading and educating the uninformed.
And those who have no personal experience as a victim of spousal abuse, those who read to understand and to help, might begin by recalling a time of intimidation by a larger person, perhaps in childhood, when you dared not fight, when you felt small and hurt and humiliated. Join hands with the victims and the survivors. Feel the partnership, the parity, the universality of being human and being hurt. Because in this field, to deny one's vulnerability to victimization is to pass from person to authority, to appear and to become separate. We are all colleagues when the issue is coping with human cruelty.
Although there are cases of wives who assault husbands, by and large spouse abuse happens because men batter and get away with it. Violent aggression is human, And among humans, the dangerous violators are overwhelmingly male. Males outnumber females as murderers, assaulters, sexual abusers and every other category of violent criminal action. Males use deadly weapons for sport, for war, for personal gain far more frequently than do females. The mammalian brain has sex-linked differences associating aggression and male gender. The male hormone, testosterone, is implicated in violent behavior.
Laboratory experiments on rats and mice show hormonally induced reversal of gender correlates with reversal of aggressive patterns of behavior. Any attempt to explain why spouse abuse happens must begin with the fact that the male of our species, for many reasons, has aggressive behaviors and these often find expression in the family.
Spouse abuse has historic roots. Females have been bought and sold and bartered, ritually branded and mutilated, denied education, land ownership, means of travel, and are not yet full partners in owning and controlling the major institutions of this world. In a political sense, the female gender is engaged in a long march from slavery, still eclipsed in the shadow of patriarchal dominance. When parity in power is sought, too often the seeker is punished. Behind closed doors the punishment may be swift, explosive and brutal.
Some cultures permit more subjugation and intimidation of women than do others. Some cultures extol the use of force to preserve the status of the male. When males teach males to slap their women to keep them in line, abuse is normative rather than aberrant. Although wife beating is no longer a publicly acceptable behavior, it is privately promoted within many male groups.
Why would a woman whose face is disfigured, whose bones are broken, whose pregnancy is lost, remain with a spouse who might beat her to death?
For some, there is simply no exit. The door is open but she cannot leave. She has no resources of her own. Her children need her. She is terrified of the police. Social workers are people who can declare you an unfit mother. The perpetrator has threatened to kill her if she leaves or if she tells and she knows no safe haven from him. There is no federal witness protection program for domestic assault victims. Her fear is real, the threat is real, the pathway to freedom cannot be found.
For some the shame is crushing. To heal in private, behind dark glasses, behind closed blinds is far better than to be seen by others. Physical pain is more bearable than shame. The shame is deeper than embarrassment. It is mortification, humiliation, dehumanization. Shame depends on the eyes of others. Avoid the eyes, avoid the shame. Stay home. Endure.
Some harbor hope for better times. The cycle of tension, abuse, relief; tension, abuse, relief has periods in which optimism is rewarded. Hope for the cessation of battering is realized and the relief experienced in the periods of peace is profound. Animal experimenters and human inquisitors know there is nothing as powerful as relief from torture as a positive reward for desired behavior. For some battered women the thin thread of hope and the episodic experience of relief reinforces her decision to stay.
Beyond conscious hope and relief is an unconscious process of traumatic bonding, learned in infancy and relearned as intimacy is interwoven with abuse. This phenomenon appears in the bizarre attachment of some hostages to their captors known as the "Stockholm Syndrome. " It explains why some victims love their abusers.
In a bank vault in Stockholm, Sweden twenty-seven years ago, Kristin, the hostage was held by Olafson, the armed assailant. She could not speak, she could not eat, she could not use a toilet without his permission. She was not only terrified, she was infantilized.
Infants cannot survive without care and feeding by their parents. They do not know the meaning of the word love. But they must experience relief when their hunger is sated, when a wet diaper is changed, when a warm blanket is provided. And we can assume that the child experiences a precursor of love --a profound, primordial gratitude for the continuing gift of life, expressed in finite acts of kindness. Often the kindness is relief from discomfort and pain.
Kristin denied that Olafson, her captor, was the source of her pain. Many hostages deny or repress or forget that fact. They do realize, consciously and deep inside, that someone with the power to take their life is not killing them. On the contrary, this powerful person gives them food and blankets and permission to speak and the right to use a toilet. The hostage feels grateful and attached. Scores of ex-hostages have described this phenomenon to me. Only when the feeling of attachment has faded, sometimes years later, do they fully appreciate what occurred and arrive at a reasonable explanation. They describe that they did not seek a loving or compassionate attachment to a killer (many hostage survivors saw their captors kill others). The survivor often tried to fight a feeling of affection. But gradually they felt warmly toward one or more hostage holders, particularly those that showed some signs of nurturance. If the age and gender were appropriate, the positive feelings could approximate romantic love. Kristin felt it so strongly toward Olafson that she became his lover and broke off an engagement to another man. Patty Hearst felt it toward Cujo, one of her Symbionese Liberation Army captors. But others (a senior magistrate held by young Italian Red Brigades; a 50 year old editor on a train captured by Dutch Moluccans) described fatherly or avuncular affection. And the feelings were often reciprocated from hostage holder to hostage. Both parties feared and resented, even hated, the authorities outside--the government and the police who seemed to be the enemy . Those authorities delayed the negotiations, wouldn't take them seriously, and might storm the sanctuary and kill them all. Within the siege room traumatic bonding had occurred.
So in the case of the Stockholm Syndrome a normal adult may experience ironic attachment to an abuser through the sequence of terror, isolation, infantilization, denial, gratitude and attachment. Love is felt by some. A battered wife might love for similar reasons.
Or, a battered wife might love her spouse because she was trained from infancy to love an abusive parent --that is, to equate love with the intimate enduring dependence on one who provides life's necessities and who also hits and hurts.
Or, the battered wife might love her spouse because relief from punishment is so rewarding that she has learned to savor this feeling while denying the pain of physical abuse.
Or, she might love qualities that are lovable and suppress any outrage in response to behaviors that are cruel. Love is notoriously irrational, complex and paradoxical. To regard all love in abusive relationships as a product of abuse is unhelpful and untrue.
Few women and none that I have worked with as patients or clients wanted to be beaten. They were not masochistic. Because the term, masochism, exists, we seek examples to fulfill the concept. Theoretically, it is conceivable that love could be based on the aberrant attraction to a sadistic sexual partner. But this would be a rare exception. It is insulting to victims of abuse to suggest that the abuse is desired.
Given the many forms and facets and stages of spouse abuse, generalizations about counseling are hazardous. Those women who are currently being battered need physical protection, advocacy, financial resources, and a reliable support system. Practical training to assure independent survival is necessary. No single counselor can provide all the help that is usually needed at the outset. A successful intervention is multidisciplinary, proactive, and well coordinated. Survivors who have learned to cope not only with abusive spouses, but with intimidating bureaucracies are valuable allies. Attorneys who are willing to help with civil orders on short notice are critical assets. Shelters are often necessary. Doctors who will document wounds and testify to their findings may save a life. Police and welfare professionals are now more educated, aware and specialized. Unfortunately, other obligations frequently intrude. The therapist or counselor helps initially by opening the door to all of these resources, by assuring that life threatening issues are appropriately addressed, by deferring any exploration of self defeating patterns of behavior until safety is achieved and a new network has been formed.
Since the family of origin is, too often, a source of insult and betrayal, undermining the woman's search for freedom and dignity, counselors learn to assess trustworthy contacts. Shelters may offer the best initial environment not only because they keep the perpetrator out, but because they offer an esteem-enhancing human group instead of a dysfunctional family of origin.
Ultimately, psychological issues are addressed. Herein lies a strenuous challenge for survivor and therapist. The disturbing fact that more depression is encountered by battered wives who leave than by battered wives who stay must be confronted. And the treatment of post-abuse depression is not as simple as the treatment of common mood disorder. The victim/survivor's depression is rooted in the reality of abuse and neglect and historically condoned cruelty. Prozac wont change that truth.
The emerging specialty of traumatic stress studies provides a new generation of clinicians with diagnoses, theory and techniques that help victims of sudden, catastrophic stress. PTSD (post traumatic stress disorder) is well understood as a common syndrome including flashbacks, nightmares, unwanted memories, emotional numbing, avoidance of reminders, concentration deficit, insomnia, irritability and other related symptoms. PTSD specialists know how to educate and coach and guide survivors toward mastery of traumatic memories and a new emotional equilibrium.
But liberation from a lifetime of abuse is a different issue entirely. PTSD may or may not be present. If it is, it is complex rather than simple. Brief therapy is usually insufficient. Issues of trust, rejection, anger and abandonment take time, skill and patience.
Writing about long term therapy with battered wives who are alternately compliant and resentful, Lenore Walker observes "Some therapists become so confused by this process that they relabel it as borderline behavior because of the intensity of the client's angry or smothering demands. . . battered women feel so unlovable that they need to be sure that their therapist likes/loves them, and like adolescents they are constantly testing it. Keeping to firm limits and calm but minimal responses are the most helpful behavior the therapist can engage in. This gives the message that you like her, are willing to stay with her in treatment without being abusive, and understand that she is scared. However, some of the limit setting and distancing techniques recommended for use with borderline clients would be counterproductive for use with a battered woman as they would set up power and control issues and not provide the warmth and understanding needed to regain feelings of safety. "
Obviously, not every therapist is equipped to help the woman who wants to change the habits that helped her endure abuse. In fact, many therapists make matters worse. They do this by announcing their skepticism. They do this by withholding support. They do this by falling in the traps identified by Dr. Walker.
Therefore three caveats are offered for those seeking counseling:
1. Shop Around. The first or second counselor may not be right for you. This relationship will be very important. You should feel comfortable and you should be sure your counselor is comfortable with you.
2. Change Counselors If You Must. Early in a therapeutic relationship you may feel betrayed or insulted. Since sensitivity to rejection is often a problem for persons dealing with interpersonal issues in therapy, you deserve a counselor who you can trust. If a counselor cannot deal with your anger, you might be better off elsewhere .
3. Endure Once You Find the Right Counselor. Those who are out of an abusive relationship, but struggling to find a sense of personal worth, consistency and security, will often have stormy times in therapy. Your job is not to please your therapist, but your therapist will be pleased if you reach your goal of independence.
In sum, spouse abuse happens because our so called civilization is not that civilized and men get away with beating women. Women stay with these men for several reasons, including fear, isolation and unusual forms of love. Leaving is dangerous for many, difficult for most. A common long term consequence of abuse is an interpersonal and intrapersonal condition that includes depression, rejection sensitivity, anger and difficulty with trust. Counseling for victims should be practical, multidisciplinary and geared to security needs. Therapy for those who are safe but not fully "whole" is a longer, more demanding process.
Therapy is not the answer; we must do more than treat the wounded. Spouse abuse is a long standing, entrenched problem. Fortunately, there are experienced, effective survivors committed to changing this cruel aspect of human history. We who treat and teach can do no better than to join hands with them.
Demause, L. (1991). The universality of incest. Am. j. psychohistory, 19:2, 123-164. (A thorough and frightening account of historic and cultural mutilation and subjugation of girls and women.)
Herman, J. L., (1992) Complex PTSD: a syndrome in survivors of prolonged and repeated trauma. J. traumatic stress, 5:3, 377-391
Martin, D. (1976, revised 1981) . Battered wives. San Francisco: Volcano Press. (Says it all, in paperback.)
Raisman, G . (1972) . Sexual dimorphism in rat preoptic area . Res . Publ . A nerv. ment. Dis., 52, 42-51. ( First evidence of reversible sex-linked anatomical differences in mammalian brains).
Scheff, T.J. and Retzinger, S.M. (1991). Emotions and violence. Lexington, MA: Lexington Books. (Shame and rage in destructive conflicts ) .
Schellenbach, C.J. (1991). Biological correlates of gender differences in violence. In J.S. Milner (ed. ), Neuropsychology of aggression (pp. 117-129). Boston: Kluwer Academic Publishers. (Good, scientific review chapter. Incidentally, females do outnumber males in arrests for child abuse and infanticide --exceptions to the rule of male predominance in violent crime.) (Another good chapter in this volume is, Rosenbaum, A. The neuropsychology of marital aggression.)
Strentz, T. (1982). The Stockholm syndrome. In F. M. Ochberg and D. Soskis (eds. ), Victims of terrorism (pp. 149-163) . Boulder: Westview .
Walker, L. (1991). Battered woman syndrome. Psychotherapy, 28:1, 21-29. (A recent sample of Dr. Walker's prolific contribution to this field, including her insights on controversial diagnoses such as Selfdefeating Personality Disorder and Borderline Personality Disorder).
Young, G. H. and Gerson, S. (1991). Masochism and spouse abuse. Psychotherapy, 28:1, 30-38. (Covers traumatic bonding, cycle theory of violence, abuse during childhood, and includes an excellent bibliography).
Who Gets in Your Bucket?
By Doug Manning
Oklahoma City, Oklahoma
The best way I know to picture how we receive help from others in grief, is to
imagine you are holding a bucket. The size and color doesn't matter. The bucket
represents the feelings bottled up inside of you when you are in pain. If you
have suffered a loss, hold the bucket and think through how you feel right now.
If you are reading this to learn more about helping others, then imagine what
would be in your bucket if a loved one had died very recently. What is in your
bucket?
Fear. Will I survive? What will happen to me now? Who will care for me? Who will
be with me when I need someone near? Most likely your bucket is almost full just
from the fear. But there is also:
Pain. It is amazing how much physical pain there is in grief. Your chest hurts,
and you can't breathe. Sometimes the pain is so intense your body refuses to
even move. There is enough pain to fill the bucket all by itself.
Sorrow. There is devastating sadness; overwhelming sorrow. A gaping hole has
been bitten out of your heart and it bleeds inside your very soul. You cry
buckets of tears and then cry some more.
Loneliness. There is no lonely like that felt when you are in a room full of
people and totally alone at the same time. Loneliness alone can fill any bucket
ever made.
I could go on, but that's enough to get the idea across, and hopefully get you
started thinking through your own list. What is in your bucket?
Now picture someone like me approaching you and your bucket. I also have a
bucket. My bucket is full of explanations. I am armed and ready to explain why
your loved one had to die, how they are now better off and how you should feel.
I am also well equipped with new ways to look at your loss. In politics they
call that "spin doctoring," but most human beings seem to know this skill by
instinct.
I have almost a bucketful of comforting words and encouraging sayings. I can
also quote vast amounts of scriptures. I seem to favor the ones that tell you
not to grieve.
So we face each other armed with full buckets. The problem is, I don't want to
get into your bucket. Yours is scary. If I get in there, you might start crying
and I may not be able to make you stop. You might ask me something I could not
answer. There is too much intimacy in your bucket. I want to stand at a safe
distance and pour what is in my bucket into yours. I want the things in my
bucket to wash over your pain like some magic salve to take away your pain and
dry your tears. I have this vision of my words being like cool water to a dry
tongue. Soothing and curing as it flows.
But your bucket is full. There is no room for anything that is in my bucket.
Your needs are calling so loudly there is no way you could hear anything I say.
Your pain is far too intense to be cooled by any verbal salve, no matter how
profound.
The only way I can help you is to get into your bucket, to try to feel your
pain, to accept your feelings as they are and make every effort to understand. I
cannot really know how you feel. I cannot actually understand your pain or how
your mind is working under the stress, but I can stand with you through the
journey. I can allow you to feel what you feel and learn to be comfortable doing
so. That is called, "Getting into your bucket."
I was speaking on guilt and anger in grief to a conference of grieving parents.
I asked the group what they felt guilty about. I will never forget one mother
who said, "All the way to the hospital, my son begged me to turn back. He did
not want the transplant. He was afraid. I would not turn back, and he died."
I asked her how many times someone had told her that her son would have died
anyway. She said, "Hundreds." When I asked her if that had helped her in any way
she said, "No."
I asked her how many times she had been told that she was acting out of love and
doing the right thing, she gave the same two responses. Many times and, no, it
did not help."
I asked her how many times she had been told that God had taken her son for some
reason, and she gave the same responses- "many" and "no help."
I asked how many times someone had told her that it had been four years since
her son's death and that it was time to "Put that behind you and get on with
your life."
This time she responded with great anger that she had heard that from many
wellmeaning people, including family members, and that it not only did not help,
it added to her pain and made her angry.
What I was really asking her is, "How many people have tried to pour their
buckets into yours?"
I then said, "Would it help if I hugged you and said `that must really hurt'?"
She said, "That would help a great deal. That would really help."
Why would that help? Because I was offering to get into her bucket with her and
to be in her pain, instead of trying salve over her pain with words and
explanations.
If you are in pain, find someone who will get into your bucket. Most of the time
these folks are found in grief groups or among friends who have been there. It
is not normal procedure. It is hard to swallow our fears and climb into your
bucket.
If you are reading this to find ways to help others in grief, then lay aside
your explanations and your words of comfort. Forget all of the instructions and
directions you think will help and learn to say, "That must really hurt." I
think that is the most healing combination of words in the English language.
They really mean, "May I feel along with you as you walk through your pain?"
"May I get into your bucket?"
Healing happens in their(our) buckets.
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