Healthy Defenses

Healthy people are like a grain of wheat, with an outer bran layer, defending the precious germ, inside. When the right conditions appear, such as good soil with enough moisture, adequate sunlight and warmth, the wheat will naturally shed its outer bran layer, and the germ will start to germinate, sending out roots. 

Many of my clients are like grains of wheat lacking a strong-enough bran layer. In other words, they lack a healthy skepticism of others, otherwise known as defenses. They want to believe the best about everyone, and are too trusting. It’s interesting to note that people who lack defenses tend to have hearts that are the most good. It’s like b/c their hearts are good, they assume others’ are as well. This naivety often conditions them into a scapegoating role early in life, where they become the receptacle for the shame of others.

I help them develop this layer by helping them see the truth about their parents, which is necessary. This doesn’t mean their parents are all-bad, but b/c they are human beings, they have bad-parts that need to be recognized. Our parents are the original imprints that shape the way we see everything else. They create an invisible template in our brain, unbeknownst to us, that shapes the way we see everything, and everyone else. If we don’t see them objectively, our lens will be distorted, and we will not be able to develop discernment. 

Once we can recognize the bad-parts in our parents we are then able to see the same patterns elsewhere, which gives us wisdom to distinguish good from bad. This allows us to develop that healthy bran layer, protecting the germ. We no longer attempt to send out roots into depleted soil, b/c we learn to surrender false hope, and to trust and protect ourselves. 

Although a healthy human is like a grain of wheat, many people who are nothing like this. Many don’t have a germ with the potential to germinate and grow, but are more like oysters, having a calcified outer shell defending something internal that has no integrity. I’ve had a glimpse inside several oysters, and I’ve seen firsthand why people at this level of emotional stuntedness need such strong defenses. Their heart is so undeveloped and needy, they cannot allow themselves to be vulnerable. 

It’s interesting to think that even though I knew my mother for 51 years, I only met her twice. I was mainly acquainted with the mask she wore. She was always onstage, acting so confident and emboldened, never able to exit the spotlight and just be herself. Her persona was invincible, and it exhausted her. 

I only met the real Caroline twice. Once was when I was visiting my parents post-college. At the time, she was terrified, b/c she was running again to be elected to the school board, and this time there was a strong possibility she wouldn’t win. Being elected to the school board had fed her narcissistic supply like nothing else, and now it was in jeopardy, her biggest fears were evoked. She had turned to my father for encouragement, but received none. She told me she’d said to him, “What if I don’t win?” and he responded, “Oh well.” Then she started crying, loudly, like a little girl, walking over to me with her head bent down and resting it on my shoulder, wanting me to hold her. I was shocked and repulsed — I had never seen this part of her before, and it was so inconsistent with who she portended to be. 

The other time I met the real Caroline was when she was at the end of her life, which is when a lot of adult children first meet their unmasked parents. Over the phone her voice sounded like a little girl, saying “I want to go home.” Mind you, she was living in her home of 4 decades at the time, with my father caring for her. I instinctively knew the child-part of her wanted to return to her own parents, back in Ohio. I told her, “Your mom and dad aren’t there anymore mom.” To which she responded forlornly, “Oh? They aren’t?” 

I met my real father once as well, just a few years ago. His mask is less obvious than my mother’s, but it’s just as real. He acts cold and callous, disinterested unless he is the center of attention. Then he feeds off attention, a true ham. He used to compete w/ my mom and me for attention when others were around. I distinctly remember him making joke after joke at my wedding reception, which at the time didn’t bother me, but now I see how it was his way of diverting the attention away from me, to him. 

I see in hindsight how my presence was threatening to him when other people were present – b/c God forbid he have to share his source of narcissistic supply. He viewed me as competition. 

My father displayed Borderline Personality Disorder (BPD) traits of idealization and devaluation so consummately it was confusing, and like most children, I was reeled in by the times he idealized me, willing to overlook all the times he devalued me in order to get another “hit” of feeling seen. I’m sure none of you can relate?? 

Every time I’d see him, he’d have an enormous smile on his face, looking so happy to see me. I felt so loved for those first few minutes. Each time I’d hope the love would last, but alas, it’d wear off within a short time. I’d work so hard to appease him: asking him questions, showing interest in his life, trying to be entertaining while telling him about mine… But the joy would quickly fade. 

I now see that the idealization of a BPD can’t last – it feels too vulnerable. So even if nothing bad happens, a BPD will find a way to devalue the moment, just to feel more in control. They can’t allow themselves to feel this level of excitement, as their hopes are utterly unrealistic, so they clamp down the shell. For the child, it feels like all the warmth has left the room, and they feel alone and desperate for it to return, believing they can somehow win it back. A child of any age will do whatever it takes to finally secure their parent’s love and approval – betraying themselves in the process. 

The one time I met the real Mike, was just a few years ago. He called me in the middle of the day, w/ a quiet, desperate voice I’d never heard before. He told me he needed my “professional help.” At first, I thought he needed nutrition advice, as my first career was as a nutritionist. But he insisted he needed psychological support, which was the one and only time he admitted to having a psyche. 

He told me he hadn’t slept at all the night before, and he was suffering. He said his depression began after he fell down and hurt his pelvic bone while caring for my mom. I realized he was probably worried about himself – who would care for him, if he’s taking care of my dying mother, when it was his turn to be decrepit? I told him, “Dad, I don’t blame you for being worried about your well-being as you age, but please know, I will take care of you, should you need it. Steve and I will come get you, and we will let you live in our mother-in-law unit and hire a caregiver. Don’t worry.” 

His voice became like a little boy, hardly a whisper. He said, “You’re wonderful, Bronwyn. I love you.” He said this twice. These were the words I’d always longed to hear, but somehow, they didn’t feel right. Not like this.I called him the next day to check on him, and his voice was the same whisper. He repeated his idealization from the night before, “You’re wonderful Bronwyn, I love you.” Although it felt good, it didn’t feel exactly right. 

I called him again a few days later, to see how he was doing. This time the mask was back in full – perhaps even more to compensate for his previous vulnerability. I asked how he was sleeping, to hear a cold, “I’m sleeping just fine.” I said, “Great. So you’re not worried about the future anymore.” He replied, “I was never worried about that. I was just in pain from my fall. That’s all.” I was too stupid at the time to know better: you don’t argue with denial. The mask was his choice, exemplified by the hardness of his voice. Vulnerable Mike was once again shielded by the oyster shell, and there was no prying it back open. 

Now, we all need some defenses, but what matters is the degree of their impenetrability. A bran layer is necessary to shield our tender heart, but an oyster shell is never good. The degree of difference between my father’s vulnerable self, with his little boy whisper, and his calcified persona, is an example of what psychotherapists call “splitting.” Splitting is when we are so cut off from ourselves we are highly inconsistent, the opposite of whole and integrated. 

People who have this degree of splitting have very little insight or self-awareness. They are people with the most shame, b/c shame is what causes the internal fracturing in the first place. We can have empathy for such people, but from afar, b/c they are not what we would describe as “safe” people. 

The goal of emotional growth is to move toward wholeness and integration, which is to resolve the inner fissures within us. It’s not to become perfect, but rather, to a place where we are no longer strangers to ourselves, but rather having complete self-awareness and acceptance. An integrated person may struggle with jealousy, for example, but they would be able to admit it openly. It’s the person who cannot admit their jealousy who is the most dangerous. 

The last example I want to give of someone like this is a former childhood friend I’ll call Kendra. Kendra came to visit me during one of my severe depressive episodes, when I had gained a lot of weight and was very lonely. Kendra has never been one to talk about her feelings or validate the feelings of others – in fact, she will usually try to talk people out of their feelings. This particular time, I confessed to her my jealousy of another friend, who looked so thin, while I had gained 30# from my depression. Instead of comforting me and validating what I was going through, suddenly Kendra broke down crying loudly herself. I was shocked, and inquired further. Kendra confessed that she herself was jealous of her sister-in-law, who was naturally thin, and how hard this was for her. 

In all the years I’d known Kendra, I’d never seen her show this level of vulnerability, and it didn’t make any sense to me. She wasn’t depressed or overweight like me, but suddenly I’m comforting her for these feelings that have always been there, just under the surface. What is going on?

In retrospect, I now see that Kendra, much like my parents, is another oyster. She too wears a perpetual mask of invincibility, but that day, I had a peek at what’s underneath: a very fragile, insecure, jealous child. All that time I’d assumed she was more together than I was, and that I was the weaker of us b/c I had all these big “emotions.” Yet nothing could be further from the truth: the people who are able to talk about their feelings are the strong ones, even if the Kendra’s of the world would make them feel otherwise. We’re all human – but some of us have a greater level of acceptance of our humanity than others, which is what makes us whole. 

In a past podcast episode, I touched on a principle in physics, called The Observer Effect. This is when the very act of being seen changes what is seen. It’s exemplified with light, which is considered both a wave and a particle. When light goes unobserved, it has no shape or integrity, and we call it a wave. Something about human observation causes light to coalesce into what we call a particle, as it contains a constitution holding it together. 

I happen to think this effect also applies to the human heart: a child who is seen develops a strong, intact heart, and a child who goes unseen by their attachment figure produces an underdeveloped, amorphous heart. A strong heart has empathy for self and others, and has a constitution that is able and willing to feel all kinds of feelings. A less-developed heart lacks this type of integrity, and only has empathy for self. 

The strong heart needs protection, but not excessively. It does best with an outer bran layer that dissolves when the conditions are right, allowing the heart to germinate and take root. The undeveloped heart is too weak for this, and so it grows a calcified, oyster-like shell to protect it, which rarely opens, if ever. Most of what you’d find, should you pry it open, is nothingness, and if you attempt to find a heart, you can easily be pulled in by the gravitational force of the nothingness, like a black hole. 

Being with such a person, reminds me of the famous quote by Gertrude Stein, “there’s no there there.” It feels hollow, b/c it is. Humans who don’t have empathy for others, and who are unwilling to feel their feelings, aren’t quite human. There’s so little substance, when humans are made to be substantial creatures, full of life and light. 

Some people are obviously empty and wearing a persona. But others, like my father and Kendra, will occasionally provide a temporary warmth that creates false expectations within us, hoping and waiting for more. It’s the inconsistency that makes people like this the most dangerous – as we have false hope in them to be human, to deliver something they cannot: consistent empathy and connection. But once we integrate, giving ourselves the warmth we’re desperately seeking, our eyes are able to open and see the truth about them, and finally surrender all false hope for them to meet our needs. It’s amazing how differently we’ll see things, but it allows us to live in reality, and to surround ourselves only with truly safe people who are fully human. 

I don’t know about you, but I’m tired of being around zombies – people who are the walking dead. I want to be fully alive every precious moment I’m on this earth, and I can no longer afford to entertain people who can’t tolerate my aliveness – people who are threatened by authenticity and need me to amputate part of myself in order to be in their presence. This is my life, and I will do whatever it takes to create an oasis of safety and flourishing. Life is for the living, and it’s worth the fight. Won’t you join me?