A Troubled Friend
This entry was posted on 11/18/2011 10:39 PM and is filed under Personally Speaking.
One of the great joys of getting older are friendships that span decades, being so well known, without the need to defend when feeling vulnerable or when weaknesses are exposed, and able to offer the same unqualified acceptance to another.
Paul and I talk often since the death of his wife four years ago, she a good friend as well. In his early seventies, retired and in robust health, last year he'd become intimate with another woman, and reveled in his new found love. She, eight years younger and still engaged in her work, had also expressed delight about their coming together.
But now the bloom was fading.
We met to share a meal and his description of their recent conversations was disturbing. Her angry outbursts, not experienced early on, were now frequent. His phone calls were not returned for days and should he call a second time, he was berated for being too intrusive. Yet, he persisted. He seemed completely captivated, and unwilling to give up this connection, but the puzzling unpredictability of her behavior was causing him anguish and many sleep-disturbed nights. He'd been losing weight and wasn't looking well.
I offered only a listening ear having learned long ago not to take on the role of armchair therapist with troubled friends, though I urged him to consult a skilled professional. Initially he resisted the idea of seeing a "shrink", but eventually he did and let me know he found the experience both reassuring and enlightening.
Yet, the abusive (my unspoken view) relationship continued.
When we met again, he talked of having gained insight into her behavior. This awareness allowed him to view her actions as less a function of who he was, and more as a serious deficit of her own. He and his counselor were also exploring why he accepted such harsh treatment so willingly. The question he asked me was: How does becoming more self-aware translate into being better able to cope?
For he was still often miserable and mired in the past, reviewing and dissecting their conversations and the pain of rebuke.
Now I did have something I wanted to offer, so all caution put aside, I told him that some years ago I was introduced to and read widely about cognitive behavior therapy (CBT) and over time learned how to practice it for myself at times of anxiety or mild depression. About this I unashamedly proselytize, so I said: You claim your emotions have been pretty much out of control. Now that you are more self-aware, you can examine your reactions to disturbing events and identify the thoughts that arise and determine your mood. The trick is to question whether those thoughts are flawed in some significant way. For example, are you drawing conclusions by assuming you know what is in the minds of others? Are you predicting the likelihood of future events without sufficient evidence? Does a single event push you into all of nothing thinking? These are distorted ways of thinking, not rational thoughts that can lead to a sound plan for the future. You may now be ready to do this analysis.
It all sounded good to me, even if a bit academic. But from Paul I just received a quizzical look and a cautious: Maybe.
Weeks passed before we met for an early breakfast. I learned the relationship was finally dwindling, though not yet ended. But my friend has a new tone in his voice, his bearing is more erect and I note that the future tense has crept back into his conversation.
No mention of CBT as part of his repertoire. I will give up on that pitch for him, as I have with others who smile and nod at my ardor and soon change the subject. A lesson learned, again.