Freudians have technical terms for everything. The term they use for unconsciously and otherwise inexplicably recreating the counterproductive, frustrating, or traumatic scenarios from one's childhood as an adult—often to the astonishment of objective observers—is "repetition compulsion." Those of us with obsessive-compulsive disorder know about compulsions. We feel as though we can't help doing some of the strange things we do. This, of course, isn't really true. We can resist and ultimately avoid doing these things, otherwise we wouldn't bother going to therapy to try and make the changes for the better. But the fact remains that these compelling and mysterious motivations are quite strong and resisting them feels very uncomfortable. Why?
Like the unseen bottom portion of an iceberg, most of our thoughts, fears, memories, and motivations lie in the unconscious part of our mind. The unconscious is by definition unknown, yet it produces many clues about its secrets. Dreams, daydreams, intuitions, and strokes of genius and inspiration are all glimpses of this vast treasure trove of mind stuff.
Like the unseen bottom portion of an iceberg, most of our thoughts, fears, memories, and motivations lie in the unconscious part of our mind. The unconscious is by definition unknown, yet it produces many clues about its secrets. Dreams, daydreams, intuitions, and strokes of genius and inspiration are all glimpses of this vast treasure trove of mind stuff.
In early childhood (say, the first five years), we learn about what a family is—and what love itself is. If that family features parents or other caretakers fighting like wild animals, hurting each other in other ways, or ignoring each other, or using third parties as levers, wedges, or bargaining chips; or if one leaves, or if both leave, then all that information, that pattern of intimate relating, gets encoded into our unconscious mind. As little kids, we are set up to thrive by learning nonstop. Our young Selves soak up all those observations (along with the attendant feelings) and that’s how we “know” what a family is. We may have fantasies about how families should be, by seeing examples on TV or in our friends’ homes, but deep down, we’ve been programmed to expect (in this example) chaos and turmoil in our closest relationships.
It seems counterintuitive that, as adults, we would seek out the same style of family “love” that made us so miserable in our youth but it happens too often to be coincidental. The theory of the repetition compulsion predicts that we will indeed be drawn to that kind of relationship in the vain hope that we can somehow make things come out differently. Is there also an element of our believing that we caused the problems way back when and it’s up to us to rectify the chronic interpersonal malfunctions? That could very well be. In any event, awareness of why we might seek out people and situations that have not been good for us in the past is the first step in stopping that pattern.
On Wednesday, we discussed these and other confounding patterns in our lives. We heard each other’s stories. We contemplated the implications of unconscious motivation. We discussed how awareness of unseen, unfelt, unknown inner influences can allow us to glimpse if not perceive, to "inkle" if not grasp, and to examine if not know these mysterious drivers.
Jill Bolte Taylor is the neuroanatomist who authored the astonishing book, My Stroke of Insight, after an aneurysm dismantled all function in the part of her brain that houses the ego (the left frontal cortex). She defines sanity as having a peaceful heart. Albert Einstein was the physicist who proved his outlandish theory that matter and energy are manifestations of each other (that is, they are one and the same). He defined insanity as doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results. Between these two gems of reason lies a truth that you and I can use to counteract our dreadful compulsion to repeat old, faulty scenes from our trauma-laden history. That is, if you don't have the calm contentedness you want, look for it someplace new. If you'd like help looking for those new places, come to group. We can look together.
It seems counterintuitive that, as adults, we would seek out the same style of family “love” that made us so miserable in our youth but it happens too often to be coincidental. The theory of the repetition compulsion predicts that we will indeed be drawn to that kind of relationship in the vain hope that we can somehow make things come out differently. Is there also an element of our believing that we caused the problems way back when and it’s up to us to rectify the chronic interpersonal malfunctions? That could very well be. In any event, awareness of why we might seek out people and situations that have not been good for us in the past is the first step in stopping that pattern.
On Wednesday, we discussed these and other confounding patterns in our lives. We heard each other’s stories. We contemplated the implications of unconscious motivation. We discussed how awareness of unseen, unfelt, unknown inner influences can allow us to glimpse if not perceive, to "inkle" if not grasp, and to examine if not know these mysterious drivers.
Jill Bolte Taylor is the neuroanatomist who authored the astonishing book, My Stroke of Insight, after an aneurysm dismantled all function in the part of her brain that houses the ego (the left frontal cortex). She defines sanity as having a peaceful heart. Albert Einstein was the physicist who proved his outlandish theory that matter and energy are manifestations of each other (that is, they are one and the same). He defined insanity as doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results. Between these two gems of reason lies a truth that you and I can use to counteract our dreadful compulsion to repeat old, faulty scenes from our trauma-laden history. That is, if you don't have the calm contentedness you want, look for it someplace new. If you'd like help looking for those new places, come to group. We can look together.
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