"The apple doesn't fall far from the tree. But sometimes it sticks out its thumb and gets a lift out of town, and ends up miles away—or a lifetime away—from the shade of its past."
Zymo Zyx

We talked about nature versus nurture on Wednesday night: how we become who we are. We played with the question, "How much of our 'stuff' (positive, negative, and neutral) comes to us via heredity and how much comes to us from our environment and experiences. High school biology imprinted our impressionable minds with the notion that this magical stuff called DNA inside us accounts for a lot of what makes us us. And since humans are predisposed to try and make sense out of our worlds, and since we often pick the easiest truths—at least at first—a lot of us hang on to this "nature" explanation for how we turned out. In other words, if we can look like our father, or sound like our mother, or be musical like a grandparent, then doesn't it make sense that we can likewise be a little off or troubled or hyperactive or perfectionistic or dysfunctional like one or more of our blood relatives?

I often hear people say that anxiety or depression runs in their family. And, of course, what they mean by that is that, according to the family mythology that's been handed down for generations, their unhappiness is in their blood. When I ask one of these inherently dysregulated folks what their childhood was like, they often say, "pretty normal." And then they tell me, "My parents divorced when I was five," or "My brother was killed when I was ten," or "My stepfather was angry and abusive." And they'll tell me about the tragedies and traumas that befell their grandparents and the upheavals and disasters and turmoil and chaos that goes back as far as anyone can remember. And I am left to wonder, "Huh?"

So how did they inherit these symptoms? By gene expression or by a lack of calm nurturance and a constant transgenerational exposure to stress? There does seem to be a lot of evidence that babies arrive with a predisposition toward either anxiety or depression (or that lovely middle ground). But how does that predisposition get transformed into a full-blown syndrome? Does it have anything to do with attachment, I wonder?

Addictions. You'll see alcohol dependency on the list of highly inheritable genetic traits. But alcoholism is not like eye color or height, is it? How do you isolate that tendency from environmental and experiential factors? I don't pretend to know. In the immortal words of the B52's in "Dance This Mess Around," I'm just askin'!

James Fallon has done some interesting work on "the sociopath gene." Is there such a thing as a "bad seed?" We hear about the occasional "homicidal maniac" who is described by neighbors as "kinda quiet; kept to himself," and rich kids who grow up in the lap of luxury, educated in swanky boarding schools, and decide to kill mommy and daddy for the inheritance. We hear about the connection between childhood animal cruelty and adult-onset bloodthirstiness. Where does it all come from? Bad ancestors? Bad experiences? Check out Dr. Fallon's unsettling and enlightening story: "A Neuroscientist Uncovers A Dark Secret."

And then there are the twins studies. Check out this story about a very strange one: "'Identical Strangers'Explore Nature Vs. Nurture."

You may have noticed that I don't offer any answers here. How could I? Other than to say, "In my professional opinion, who we are and what we do depend on a combination of factors." Gee, how insightful! Well, stark questions often have gray answers. And the hardest questions are ultimately unanswerable. The important thing is that we ask. And that we wrestle with the quandaries.

My main point is that we should not feel doomed by either our ancestry, our circumstances, or our traumas. We can choose to work with whatever we've been handed. That's why people come to group. We all have a hopeful feeling that we can make ourselves and our lives better, regardless of where we came from. It's a matter of finding that apple inside us, the one with the big bite taken out of it, and getting it to a safe place where the ground is fertile, with enough water and sunlight, and seeing what we can grow.

Egos. They crept into our discussion tonight. How could they not? They're everywhere, like invisible creatures which are always present but often escape our attention. They creep, or lounge, or crouch, all around us, in us, and through us. Ego is what makes things happen, and keeps things happening. The ego of the other is what our ego deals with, and vice versa. The ego is the part of us the world sees and feels, and the part of us that sees and feels the world. Our five senses plug directly into it. We communicate through it. It does all the heavy lifting to keep us on schedule and on track. When we can't get out of bed, it's ego that's paralyzed. When we fight, or run away, or freeze up, or faint dead away, that's ego taking charge of our body and doing its thing. When those around us don't understand what we're going through, or don't care, or worse, that's their ego doing its thing.

We talked about the ego's tendency to become attached to things, ideas, outcomes, power, control, and so many other things we can never truly possess. We listened to each other's stories of egos run amok or out to lunch or triumphing in big and small ways. We were a room full of egos, sharing, listening, questioning, dialoguing. We went easy on each other's egos last night. We were gentle and kind and respectful. Even when we asked hard questions, or offered provocative advice. Ego is the conscious part of us which creates the self-awareness necessary for growth and relationship. Last night, it was almost as if each of us contributed our own fraction toward one big ego. A collective ego, like a soft machine, chugging toward enlightenment; or like a gentle giant, benevolent and introspective; our long, gliding strides pulling us along on a meandering, free-form journey.

This discussion about ego was not an overt conversation. In fact, I don't think the word even came up. But whenever we talk about power and control—especially when it's exercised by someone else (a loved one, an enemy, a boss, a neighbor, a stranger in a store)—then that's what it's all about. Its name need not be spoken; it's there all the same.

I wrote about the good kind of attachment after our August 6 get-together. This is the Ainsworth and Bowlby kind of attachment, the attachment we mammals form between each other, starting before birth. In humans, these attachments, whether secure or dysfunctional, can last a lifetime. The bad kind of attachment comes from Buddhist teachings. This is the sinisterly pervasive, diabolically intoxicating attachment that leads to suffering: Inflexible and unconditional attachment to things, ideas, people, beliefs, power, control, outcomes, prestige, legacy, even immortality. This is the stock and trade of the narcissists in our lives. I wrote about narcissism back on July 23rd. Am I repeating myself? I hope not. But awareness about our unhealthy attachments bears repeating.

When we consider people in abusive relationships—whether it's physical, verbal, psychological, emotional, or any other kind of abuse—we must consider two different kinds of counterproductive attachment. The first is manifested by the abuser. Out of feelings of powerlessness and fear, his ego blocks any compassion and empathy his psyche may have to offer and seeks only to take power and control away from his victim. He feels a deep sense of loss, a hole where his own agency is missing. His power and control were taken from him long ago, and his misguided attempts to restore them are visited on those he is ostensibly closest to. The abuse often occurs in isolation, as other relationships become necessarily severed or isolated.

The second kind of counterproductive attachment at work in an abusive relationship is generated by the victims. It's an attachment to what Freud called the repetition compulsion. It's a strange but common drive to repeat unsatisfactory scenarios from our past in hopes they will turn out differently. These fantastic hopes come from that vast unconscious portion of our mind, where the fuel for our fears and passions is stored. Those who allow one-sided, codependent, unfair, or dangerous relationships to continue are not "gluttons for punishment." They are dreamers, attached to hopeless unconscious wishes for a different past. Rather than thinking of ourselves in those situations as "enablers," we might do better to consider that we are only doing what comes naturally. But nature provides much that is unhealthy for us. Black widow spiders, rattlesnakes, avalanches, arsenic, and meteorites come readily to mind. So doing what comes unnaturally might be a better way to go when it comes to changing our interior and exterior circumstances for the better.

The Buddhist solution to our dysfunctional "egoism" is detachment from the "normal" things our ego wants. Detaching our Selves from outcome, power, control, things, prestige, money, being right, winning, revenge, getting our share, getting more, having it all, having a diagnosis, and all the other things we sometimes feel compelled to cling to, is called "egolessness." After a lifetime of practice seeking after, yearning for, grasping at, and clutching fast to these things, letting go is much easier said than done. And once done, we inevitably find our Selves back where we started: needing to let go all over again. But with persistence, practice, and patience, we will find some success. Even though real success might mean something very different now. It might be a kind of "successless success." And if our ego cooperates, as it knows it can, we can find real peace, and true freedom. Without ego, we make only spiritual decisions; decisions motivated by love and interdependence, rather than fear and control.

We did not meditate together tonight, but we exercised interdependence beautifully, I think. We did not overtly try and detach from anything. We did not blame ourselves or others for wanting all these wants. But we did sit together. And it felt like a start to something big. Something huge even. Something greater than all of our egos put together. It didn't necessarily feel like nothingness. But it felt to me like a taste of freedom. Peace.

How could we not talk about Robin Williams' suicide tonight? We set aside our own depressed moods for awhile to try and understand what that ultimate, desperate level of resignation must feel like. His long struggle with depression ended two days ago, on Monday. Those of us who received so much from him over the years are feeling the pain of loss, but few admit to being surprised. The pain he lived with for so many years is finally over, and we are left to learn another lesson.

We've all known people with severe mood disturbances. Scattered throughout our friends and families, no matter who we are, whether we know it or not, are peppered with these deep, dark cases. We know about the substance abuse, the trips to rehab, the interventions, but only after such a death do we start to understand that all of that turmoil and chaos was the result of and underlying foundation of psychic pain.

We checked in with each other on Wednesday night. We asked about the level of desperation each of us has felt in the past. We talked about the ways we try and keep chronic sadness from wrecking us. We shared about the ideas we've we toyed with when the sour taste of life has seemed unbearable. And through this frank and serious discussion, we expressed our gratitude at being in this group, able to just be together in a room and feel heard.

No discussion of depression can be complete without exploring its opposite: Happiness. What is happiness? Is it an emotion? Is it a feeling? Is there a difference? Does it matter what we call it? Why does it come easily for some and not for others? Is it spontaneous or do we urge it to the surface? Those of us who are inclined toward depression know what happiness is. It's not elation or joy or rapture. Happiness is that peaceful feeling when our depression lifts. We don't always notice it, but when we do, we feel a special kind of relief. Of course, some of us immediately start to worry how long this respite will last. When will we fall into the dark trough of despair next? Our happiness can quickly transform into worry. And depression's twin arrives: Anxiety.

And so, together, we explored all this. Our grief, our remembrances of past losses, our various flavors of abiding sadness. But Wednesday nights are not just for understanding. We share solutions. Tools, tips, and even tricks to get around, get through, get along.

One member brought us an idea from his individual therapist. A trick for getting out of bed in the morning. A way to break a counterproductive cycle he'd gotten so used to. This stewing in bed for an hour or more had come to feel normal, something he thought he just did because he is who he is. But his therapist offered a suggestion to break this cycle; a way to interfere with a negative feedback loop he felt trapped in. The solution wasn't a magic trick, but its result was magical. It wasn't easy, but it was simple. This trick, this technique, this conscious disruption of a negative mood, plays on the circle we've discussed so often: Thoughts lead to Feelings lead to Behaviors which lead back to Thoughts. This unconsciously perpetuated cycle, this circular pattern of forwards and backwards circulating Thoughts ↔ Feelings ↔ Behaviors ↔ Thoughts, and so, can be disrupted by consciously changing any one of the components.

So, what did our group member do to get himself out of bed? Even though it wasn't time to go to work? Even though his habit was to lie there and worry about what his moods might have in store for him today? Even though his normal M.O. was to tell himself he would first get in a good mood, then get out of bed? (A strategy which never seemed to pan out.) Through force of will, he just did it. He got up. He put on his running clothes. He opened the door. And he ran. He did the thing that Nike has been telling us to do when we think something is too hard. "Just do it." And by just doing it, by breaking his normal cycle, he felt better. He actually had a good day. None of the anxiety he was feeling anxious about materialized. As if by magic.

But did he feel happy? We got the feeling he did.

Another group member talked about frustration at work. But his tolerance for frustration is very high, and his control over "the system" in his workplace is pretty low. "Just doing it" for him would involve overcoming his aversion to finding the social engagement necessary to find a new job. But that wasn't what our discussion was about in this case. In this case, it was about globalizing a feeling. His workplace is not being run very well, causing his day to be very long and his efforts to be ineffectual, so he feels discouraged about the career he has chosen.  But globalizing is a cognitive distortion (see my 7/16/14 post) that we can overcome by challenging it. Is a career path wrong because we twist our ankle on a cracked stepping stone? Of course, not. We can rationally see that if we step back and shrink the problem down to its appropriate size. His career isn't the problem; it's just the current system: a system that he can get unstuck from (unless it changes through other forces).

By coming together, we help each other get past these temporary discouragements. We listen, we offer whatever words of support we can, we care for each other. We try and shoulder together the idea that life is all about impermanence. If we feel happy today, it's not going to last. If we feel down tomorrow, that too shall pass. We try and emphasize that we have more control over our feelings than we sometimes think we do.

But sometimes, a harmless distraction can bring much needed relief. We choose to just try and reset our automatic responses to the slings and arrows or our interior and exterior circumstances with some happy stimuli. We took some time at the end of our Wednesday get-together to share some funny videos with each other. Here are a few. I hope they make you happy.

“What can you do to promote world peace? Go home and love your family.”                                                                            Mother Teresa

Mammals. You gotta love 'em. Partly because of the way they rear and nurture their young. Sure, some insects (bees and ants, for examples) hang around after they lay their eggs and fuss over the next generation. They keep them safe from predators and natural disasters, they monitor their temperature, they watch over them until the new brood emerges. But all of this care lasts only until the hatch. After that, the bugs are on their own.

But mammals go much further. Humans hold our offspring within our bodies for 40 weeks. We hold them at our breast for months after that. We hold them close within our family unit. We hold them safe within the tribe, the clan, the community. We do a lot of holding. All of this holding has worked well for mice and lions and elk and orangutans for millions of years, and we instinctively know that holding is the way to go. We even know when the time comes to let the new generation launch off and form new families and communities.

When all of this holding and launching plays out as nature has designed it, the result is adults who are something we call "more or less well-adjusted." All this holding leads to "attachment." Attachment is the secure connection between parent and child and family and community. When something disrupts the natural order and secure attachment is not established and maintained, the attachment can become avoidant, ambivalent, or disorganized. These dysfunctional attachment styles can stay with us throughout our lifespan, and profoundly affect attachment outcomes for generations.

More on attachment styles.

On Wednesday, a group member asked if he could bring his new puppy with him. No one objected. In fact, Roxie was well received. The only complaint was that we didn't get enough cuddling time with her. Roxie was friendly and open to meeting new people, but she seemed all right with staying close to her owner. You could see the bond between them. And you could see the changes the relationship has made possible. Our old friend acknowledged how much less angry he is now; how good it feels to care about something (or someone) else.

Another member spoke about how, during her darkest times, her dogs had helped her get out of bed. She said it felt good to be "pulled out of myself," because I was needed. How can we explain the effect coming together with another individual who is somehow there for us seems to have?

We often talk in group about David Richo's Five A's of Attachment. The 5 A’s of Attachment are the biological needs humans (as well as the other primates, other mammals, and even some birds) are born with. We strive to have these needs met in infancy and childhood because our psychological makeup demands it. If these are not met in our early life, we can find it difficult to achieve “wholeness” or “selfhood” later on. Our self-esteem can be in jeopardy, and we may tend to accept (and even be attracted to) dysfunctional relationships.
If we do get these needs met early, then we are likely to pass them on to others and be satisfied with our available inner and outer resources when life’s stressors arise. The 5 A's are what often stand in the way of our having a decent chance at a resilient, fulfilling, emotionally rewarding life.

The unfortunate reality is that most of us did not get enough of what we really needed in childhood. Being aware that this is what often holds us back and can explain many mental and physical symptoms is the first step in working through these old, traumatic losses. The second step is to summon the courage for personal exploration and to seek interpersonal relationships that can help to satisfy these deficits. The third step is persistence. We and those around us will always yearn for attachment. Giving and receiving the 5 A’s is good therapy and promotes healthy interdependence.

We've all seen rescue dogs who've been abused or neglected. They wear their damage like flea-bitten coats of protective armor. Some are angry and loud and show their teeth, some cower and tremble and avoid eye contact, some chase their tails endlessly. And we've all seen these dogs eventually respond to humane treatment (the kind everyone deserves). When it comes to the power of relationship to promote internal change, we have so much to learn from these examples.

Whether we are deciding to obtain puppy therapy, or go to group, or hang out with nurturing friends, we are choosing to give and receive the basic things we need as people. We are choosing to move toward secure attachment, away from our old, familiar ways. We are choosing to heal; and healing is contagious. Why not consider spreading some around this week?