once again I am awed by your narrative powers, and by the clarity and depth of your analysis; and deeply appreciative of your making these gold nuggets public – the younger generations in our fields are understandably shook up by such stories, but as professionals in these lines of work, our true capacity for helping and healing can only develop at the same rate as the fading of our comforting illusions about life and human nature.
When teaching therapists-in-growth, I have sometimes asked them to watch the movie “Constantine” (Keanu Reeves p.p.), paying particular attention to the depictions of Hell – and subsequently told them that in the darkest instances of our work, the only thing we have left to offer the client is our willingness to “sit with them in Hell”:
While we are not on fire ourselves, we see the same things as our clients do (through their descriptions), thus (partially) sharing their experiences, which no one else can do for them; we hold their burning hands, which no one else can stomach; and we gently – and unflinchingly – help them make sense of Hell, which in no few cases means confirming that when no easy, comfortable, ‘right’ decision exists, the only decisions left are ‘wrong’ in one way or another: one characteristic of Hell is that your only option is to choose the one that seems ‘least wrong’ or ‘most beneficial while wrong’.
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I, too, believe that the officer in question was not traumatized. At some point during my years in clinical practice, it suddenly dawned upon me that the root of trauma is not horror itself, but:
being completely powerless/helpless in the face of horror!
People may go through horrible things, but not all of them will become traumatized (by that): The ones who experience(d) some way, some aspect, of being able to ‘do something’ (bring the plane down without killing all the passengers, help another passenger stop bleeding out, reduce another’s panic enough to be able to leave the plane before it sinks) usually avoid PTSD.
Sometimes, they may enter a clinical session with PTSD but leave without it – because the therapist asked the right questions, helping them remember that they actually did stop the bleeding/help the old lady out, at which point they realize that they actually ‘did something’; and that is the point where PTSD starts dissolving.
The questions facing the officer in your story seems to have been these:
* “Do I start a conversation – knowing that the baby’s breathing is still, right now, obstructed by a ‘cord … so tight around his neck that I couldn’t get my fingers underneath it’? Or do I fire now I have the chance, gaining the freedom to remove the cord before the baby is dead?“
* “Do I factor in that last time the perpetrator had a conversation, just a few minutes ago, much of the perpetrator’s contribution consisted in conveying the sounds of this very baby being strangled?”
* “Do I factor in that this guy has already demonstrated that he is not averse to the sound of his own baby being strangled, let alone to being the cause of that sound – which means that if we do have a conversation and this guy suddenly decides to bash the baby against the wall, it will be over before I can intervene?”
From a PTSD risk perspective, this officer was able to ‘do something’ to save the baby, and did so, choosing the only option that was almost certain to ensure the survival of the baby – admittedly at the cost of the life of the person who had already proven his willingness, and even desire, to knowingly expose his own baby to mortal danger.
Had the officer acted otherwise, and had the baby died, it is highly probable that the images (and sounds!) of that baby would have haunted him for the rest of his life (which he might even, for that very reason, have ended prematurely).
As far as “good days” go, how often are any of us able to look back at our actions today, and to think: “Oh, yes – today I actually did save a baby from almost certain death by the hand of its own father; in a way that, incidentally, means that said father will never be able to harm that baby again”…?
Dear Ellis,
once again I am awed by your narrative powers, and by the clarity and depth of your analysis; and deeply appreciative of your making these gold nuggets public – the younger generations in our fields are understandably shook up by such stories, but as professionals in these lines of work, our true capacity for helping and healing can only develop at the same rate as the fading of our comforting illusions about life and human nature.
When teaching therapists-in-growth, I have sometimes asked them to watch the movie “Constantine” (Keanu Reeves p.p.), paying particular attention to the depictions of Hell – and subsequently told them that in the darkest instances of our work, the only thing we have left to offer the client is our willingness to “sit with them in Hell”:
While we are not on fire ourselves, we see the same things as our clients do (through their descriptions), thus (partially) sharing their experiences, which no one else can do for them; we hold their burning hands, which no one else can stomach; and we gently – and unflinchingly – help them make sense of Hell, which in no few cases means confirming that when no easy, comfortable, ‘right’ decision exists, the only decisions left are ‘wrong’ in one way or another: one characteristic of Hell is that your only option is to choose the one that seems ‘least wrong’ or ‘most beneficial while wrong’.
--------
I, too, believe that the officer in question was not traumatized. At some point during my years in clinical practice, it suddenly dawned upon me that the root of trauma is not horror itself, but:
being completely powerless/helpless in the face of horror!
People may go through horrible things, but not all of them will become traumatized (by that): The ones who experience(d) some way, some aspect, of being able to ‘do something’ (bring the plane down without killing all the passengers, help another passenger stop bleeding out, reduce another’s panic enough to be able to leave the plane before it sinks) usually avoid PTSD.
Sometimes, they may enter a clinical session with PTSD but leave without it – because the therapist asked the right questions, helping them remember that they actually did stop the bleeding/help the old lady out, at which point they realize that they actually ‘did something’; and that is the point where PTSD starts dissolving.
The questions facing the officer in your story seems to have been these:
* “Do I start a conversation – knowing that the baby’s breathing is still, right now, obstructed by a ‘cord … so tight around his neck that I couldn’t get my fingers underneath it’? Or do I fire now I have the chance, gaining the freedom to remove the cord before the baby is dead?“
* “Do I factor in that last time the perpetrator had a conversation, just a few minutes ago, much of the perpetrator’s contribution consisted in conveying the sounds of this very baby being strangled?”
* “Do I factor in that this guy has already demonstrated that he is not averse to the sound of his own baby being strangled, let alone to being the cause of that sound – which means that if we do have a conversation and this guy suddenly decides to bash the baby against the wall, it will be over before I can intervene?”
From a PTSD risk perspective, this officer was able to ‘do something’ to save the baby, and did so, choosing the only option that was almost certain to ensure the survival of the baby – admittedly at the cost of the life of the person who had already proven his willingness, and even desire, to knowingly expose his own baby to mortal danger.
Had the officer acted otherwise, and had the baby died, it is highly probable that the images (and sounds!) of that baby would have haunted him for the rest of his life (which he might even, for that very reason, have ended prematurely).
As far as “good days” go, how often are any of us able to look back at our actions today, and to think: “Oh, yes – today I actually did save a baby from almost certain death by the hand of its own father; in a way that, incidentally, means that said father will never be able to harm that baby again”…?
Thanks once more and very best wishes,
Chris
Chris - thank you for your thoughtful reply. You are a kindred spirit.