STORY BY

Drs. Blair & Rita Justice

Whatever the news headlines, the category of hurricane, the drop in the stock market, each day we have to settle for ourselves at our core level of knowing, whether we live in a universe that supports life or seeks its destruction. How our lives turn out depends on that knowing, and how our lives begin sets the template for this knowing.

Children who come from loving and supportive families operate from a “secure base” that allows for intimacy and trust, allowing them to become vital, self-regulating adults according to research documented by neuroscientist Jaak Panksepp, author of Affective Neuroscience and Foundations of Human and Animal Emotions.

The brain contains emotional systems that directly mediate social bonds and social feelings. There also is an intrinsic neural system in the brain, which Panksepp calls the panic system that triggers vocal “crying” in response to social isolation in young mammals. Distress vocalizations are highly arousing and powerfully motivating to the care-giving drive of the maternal care system. If no bond exists, the sound of distress calls can be perceived by a parent as an irritation that can lead to child abuse.

Letter to a murderer

Some among us—saints, enlightened beings, bodhisattvas, we might call them—seem to have a care bond that extends even to those who have caused them great suffering. Hector Black is one such soul. Marc Ian Barasch tells of the brutal murder of Hector and Susie Black’s daughter Trish by Ivan Simpson in his book Field Notes on the Compassionate Life.

When the grieving Hector stood in the Atlanta courtroom to read his prepared victim impact statement, he said, “I know that love does not seek revenge. I don’t hate you, though I hate with all my soul what you did. My wish from my heart is that God would grant all of us peace who have been so terribly wounded by this murder—including you, Ivan Simpson.”

Later he reflected, “How could I hate this man who had suffered so much as a child...and though I found it an awful stretch to think I could be concerned about the man who’d destroyed Trish, I also knew I had to write to him that his life wasn’t over...I believe we each have a capacity for evil as well as good.”

The childhood template of bonding for Hector and Ivan were polar opposites. Ivan had been born in a mental hospital to a severely disturbed mother and had a life of violence and deprivation. His cries of panic from isolation were ignored or punished. Hector’s social bonding needs were met and nurtured.

We get to decide

But the templates don’t determine our lives. The decisions we make about the blows life deals us, do. We can decide to isolate ourselves in our pain or see the pain and suffering in others as well. Archbishop Desmond Tutu, in his South African Truth and Reconciliation Command, explained, “When you are dehumanized, inexorably, I am dehumanized. If I want to enhance my humanity, then whether I like it or not, I must enhance yours.”

How do we enhance the humanity of others, especially those we dislike or even hate? How do we see ourselves in the other we find so despicable? How do we continue to love the one who hurt us so? Reaching toward humanity can change the template of our world view. In deciding to write Ivan, Hector was using a strategy that psychological research has demonstrated can facilitate our release of pain and isolation.

Our own stories

Psychologist James Pennebaker, Ph.D., of The University of Texas at Austin, is a foremost researcher on the healing power of self-disclosure in writing. Why does writing about upsetting experiences produce improvements in physical and psychological health?

In his book, Opening Up: The Healing Power of Confiding in Others, Pennebaker concludes, “People think differently after writing about traumas. In translating experiences into language, people begin to organize and structure the seemingly infinite facets of overwhelming events. Once organized, the events are often smaller and easier to deal with. Particularly important is that writing moves us to a resolution. Even if there is no meaning to an event, it becomes psychologically complete. In short, there is no more reason to continue to ruminate about it...Not talking or writing about upsetting experiences, then, can be unhealthy for several reasons. Holding back...is bad in and of itself because of the physiological work of inhibition.”

About...Us

A classic tool in psychotherapy is to ask the client to “write a letter you will never send.” The writing of unspoken thoughts and feelings, without the fear of retribution, frees the person to begin a dialogue about the pain or trauma. The perpetrator, absent father or cheating spouse may never be confronted, but the feelings have been put into language. The energy put into inhibiting the thoughts and feelings is freed up for healing. People begin to make sense even out of what is incomprehensible. They begin, sometimes only just enough, to feel the “You in me, me in you.” Once that happens, our perception of the universe has the possibility of shifting.

In the movie About Schmidt, Warren Schmidt, played by Jack Nicholson, is a man who never disclosed any of his vulnerabilities or even his true feelings until he begins writing to a 6-year-old Tanzanian boy named Ngudu whom he sponsors as a “foster child” for $22 a month.

He is long overdue for self-disclosure, as the long, personal letters, to a child he’s never met—and later learns cannot yet read—reveal. He writes of his wife’s sudden death, his failed relationship with his only child, and, finally, his belief that his life is meaningless.

Redemption comes to Schmidt, though, when he receives a letter from the nun who helps take care of Ngudu.

“Ngudu wants you to know that he receives all your letters. He wants you to be happy. He wants you to have a happy life.”

Enclosed is a child’s drawing of a stick-figure man holding the hand of a little boy. Schmidt sobs. A social bond has been made, and his brain—and heart—know it.

Last Updated: 09-24-2008

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