understanding and illuminate the processes of self-examination and discovery. This is essential to the teasing out of “what is ours and what was given to us,” allowing the professional in training to become a better facilitator of this process for his or her clients.
If you are a working professional, already you have a command of early developmental theory and have witnessed firsthand the effects of attachment disturbances in grief. I would invite you, however, to approach this book with a willingness to suspend pre-existing theoretical frameworks, and consider an integrated approach that expands upon them. Part II may be useful in processing any vicarious trauma or counter-transferential material, while Part III provides practical short-term treatment interventions.
If you are grieving and are interested in creative approaches to healing, this text is intended to be a useful addition to your toolbox. Whether your loss occurred in the distant past, recent past, or is anticipated to occur in the near future, it is never too late or too soon to engage in this work. In confronting the task of rebuilding your life story, I would encourage you to pay attention to Parts I and II, which provide a helpful frame of reference and examples of how others have navigated this path. Part III provides additional options for materials, methods, and procedures that may inspire. Please note, this book is intended to promote therapeutic practices but is not intended to replace therapy. I highly recommend seeking professional support as you embark on this journey.
References
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Fleming, M.F., Barry, K.L., Manwell, L.B., Johnson, K., and London, R. (1997) ‘Brief physician advice for problem drinkers: A randomized controlled trial in community-based primary care practices.’ JAMA 277, 13, 1039–1045.
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James, J. and Friedman, R. (2009) The Grief Recovery Handbook, the Action Program for Moving beyond Death, Divorce, and Other Losses including Health, Career, and Faith. New York: Harper Collins Publishers.
Lewis, C.S. (1961) A Grief Observed. New York: Harper Collins.
Shear, M.K., Simon, N., Wall, M., Zisook, S., et al. (2011) ‘Complicated grief and related bereavement issues for DSM-5.’ Depression and Anxiety 28, 2, 103–117.
Tolle, E. (2004) The Power of Now: A Guide to Spiritual Enlightenment. Novato, Canada: Namaste Publishing.
Wallace, P., Cutler, S., and Haines A. (1988) ‘Randomised controlled trial of general intervention in patients with excessive alcohol consumption.’ British Medical Journal 297, 663–668.
Winnicot, D.W. (1970) Playing and Reality. New York: Basic Books.
PART I
Theory
1
The Language of Grief
When There Are No Words
Briana MacWilliam
What you never get over
Many times, I have heard the expression, “Some things you never get over, you just learn to carry them.” It’s a phrase that rings both true and false for me. Yes, old patterns of relating affect the ways we interact with new people. And yes, some wounds cut so deep we are left with scarring. But there is a difference between climbing over something and/or dragging it behind you, and stopping to cut it up into itty-bitty pieces, cook it over a campfire and then eat it, so you can keep going, unencumbered. Sitting down to write this book, I found myself banging my head against the wall, trying to take a definitive position on whether or not there are some losses you just can’t get over. Ultimately, the stand I decided to take is this: I don’t know.
I don’t know if grief is something a person will ever be rid of, or if it is something he or she will simply learn to carry. Or if it is something you think you’ve gotten over, and then it shows up again at your back door. The truth is, no one else can tell you either. Only you can answer that question for yourself. I can tell you from my own experience and the experiences of others, loss is something that will never go away.
And in that vein, here’s another quote for you, “Attachment is the root of all suffering.” I saw this as I was happily researching articles on attachment theory, looking for clinical support for this book. It stopped me in my tracks. There I was, with the aim of offering hope to grievers and clinicians alike, and Buddha had to throw a wrench in the works. At first, I took the meme as a personal criticism; “You’re steering people towards suffering,” it told me. But then I realized it was a thumbs up that I was headed in the right direction. After all, how can we overcome suffering—or learn to carry it, or cut it up into itty-bitty pieces—if we are unwilling to address it?
As an art therapist, I have been largely trained in the psychoanalytic tradition, which, in its modern configuration, is a humanistic clustering of theories aimed at examining the machinations of our biological drives, the ego and its relationship to early attachment “objects,” and the development of a self-identity. While analysis has been criticized for being a horse of a different color, with no unifying vernacular or streamlined modus operandi (unlike behavioral sciences, which are often based on a single and uniformed model), I would argue its strength lies in this varied approach. Examining psychic phenomena—such as the experience of grief—from within numerous frameworks allows us to see alternate patterns and transfer our point of view, according to the needs of the individual (Pine, 1990).
But one need not accrue the student loan debt that I have to grasp the common thread throughout all of these theories, which is this: relationships are important. Chances are, you already knew that (because everybody knows that) but how they are important, and in what way for each and every individual, slips into a gray area that has kept many an analyst well fed and living on the Upper West Side (at least, in New York City). It is not my intention with this book to paint a black and white picture, or to suggest formulaic solutions, but to illuminate just how foggy it all is, and offer a small but steady nightlight.
The title of this chapter, “When there are no words,” alludes to an experience of loss that shakes us to our very core. From our earliest beginnings, we form a sense of self through what are called “identifications,” which is a fancy word for saying, “in relationship to others” (or more specifically, our perception of others). As infants, we are prompted to respond to a collection of sounds, and eventually learn that these sounds are called “words.” The first word a child is encouraged to learn is his or her name, and hot on its heels, the use of a first person pronoun: “I,” “me,” “mine,” “myself,” etc. A mastery of these words allows us to think abstractly and thus identify with this concept of “self” in relationship to others (both animate and inanimate objects). Thus, we think we know who we are based on our affiliations and the things we own (literally and figuratively). This is when the ego—our thinking self—assumes its throne.
My last name, MacWilliam, is Scottish and it means, “son of William.” The name, which has lasted for generation upon generation, exemplifies this defining of one’s self in relation to (or in belonging to) another person. But what happens if we lose that person? What happens if I assume someone else’s last name? What meaning does a name have then? What meaning does the “I” have, if
