When’s the Next Time You’re Going to the Rainforest?

You don’t have to keep living the story you inherited. This week’s post is a reflection on internalized messages, intergenerational wounds, and the slow courage of rewriting the script.

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Lisa and I did our honeymoon on the island of Margarita, off the coast of Venezuela. Toward the end of that vacation, we bumped into an advertisement. A tour company was offering to take us in a puddle jumper to a dirt runway deep into the rainforest on the mainland. The pictures promised an adventure worthy of Indiana Jones. Excitedly, we counted our cash and traveler’s checks. As I calculated our meager sum, I felt downcast (and slightly relieved if I’m honest). “This trip will leave us with exactly three dollars to our names in a foreign country! We can’t go!” Without missing a beat, Lisa flashed a determined smile, and uttered the phrase that has shaped our lives ever since. “When’s the next time you’re going to get a chance to go to the rainforest?”      

Tomorrow afternoon, Lisa and I will board a plane to Atlanta. From there, if things go according to plan, fifteen hours later, we’ll step off an aircraft in Cape Town, South Africa. There, we’ll join up with Lizzie, our youngest, at about the time that she’ll be finishing up her summer class. Thanks to Lisa, and no thanks to me, a series of adventures awaits us in this ancient land where humanity got its start.  

Anna Freud, Sigmund’s daughter, coined the phrase and the concept of “defense mechanisms.” According to her, we unconsciously set them into motion when we’d rather not face something that makes us anxious. Defense mechanisms are always unconscious, and always, always get in the way of accepting life on its own terms.   

Over the last several months, I’m afraid that I’ve been a walking illustration of a defense known as “approach-avoidance.” More or less, this one has to do with, by turns, moving toward a thing you want, and then turning away from it and avoiding it. By the way that my poor wife has had to drag me to trip-organizing meetings, you’d think we were planning oral surgery rather than the coolest vacation in the history of vacations! Part of me is genuinely excited about this trip of a lifetime. The other part doesn’t feel worthy of it, and therefore, doesn’t want to acknowledge that it’s happening. See what I mean? Approach-avoidance!  

If I haven’t mentioned it in a while, I’ve spent over thirty years in a psychotherapy practice. A fella in my profession can’t help but wonder about the root system and the origin story for such a peculiar clump of dysfunction. Near as I can tell, there’s a multi-generational root system that makes sense out of my inner mule.

The Birth of a Defense Mechanism   

It all starts with the fact that, by today’s standards, my dad grew up in poverty. He literally “did not have a pot to piss in." From a financial stability standpoint, his mom and dad came from less than nothing. Through hard work, and lots of luck, grandpa was able to eventually emerge from the coal mines, and provide my dad with some opportunities. The GI Bill, along with those opportunities, gave my dad a chance to exercise his entrepreneurial muscles in America’s thriving, post-WWII economy. Eventually, a number of things knocked him back down to earth, but for a while, Dad was flying high, and he took all of us along for the ride.

You know how people talk about “First World Problems?” Well my dad had a version of that. He manifested a, “Just Made It Into The First World…Problem.” On the sunny, conscious side of his personality, he wanted to make sure his kids always knew where they came from, so that they would always know to express proper gratitude for the blessings they enjoyed. On the dark, unconscious side of his personality, he resented the prosperity his kids enjoyed. Every gift came with invisible razor wire attached to it. With his generous right hand, Dad would give. With his punitive left hand, he wielded a cudgel of shame and insult, along with manipulation. He took the Spiderman aphorism in a sideways direction: “With great gifts, come great punishments.” For anyone who thinks they might recognize their own story in this brief description, consider reading Doctor Alice Miller’s classic, The Drama of the Gifted Child. In it, she presents a compelling theory of how otherwise good people transmit cruelty and shame to the next generation.  

So, what does this all have to do with my allergic reaction to an amazing travel opportunity? Imagining myself receiving such an extravagant opportunity, and taking advantage of it, made me feel…well… “spoiled.” Notice the childish use of language here.  “Spoiled” wasn’t the baptismal name my dad gave me, but as you can see, it’s one that stuck to me, along with several synonyms for it. The internalization of such names has carried with it a sense of unworthiness.             

Wound Care

My work with clients over the years has taught me that bringing an old wound like this out into the light of consciousness can’t help but heal it…some. I also know that insight, alone, seldom makes psychological wounds magically disappear. I expect that here and there, on the course of this vacation, I’ll likely confront the impact of those old messages from the 1960s and 70s. Over the years, I’ve learned a wide array of skills to help clients, and help myself when the pain of psychological wounds gets in the way. About ten years ago, a homemade technique showed up when a colleague offered to provide me EMDR in response to the jarring and sudden death of my mother-in-law. I didn’t think I was suffering from PTSD, but I’d always wanted to experience this form of hypnosis.

In the midst of this powerful technique, I had the unmistakable feeling of my dad’s 100% loving presence in the room with me. I was able to get a powerful and visceral image of his loving core self. Since that time, I have developed a kind of sacred cognitive therapy where I’ll talk to my dad when those old false messages that he delivered in the 1960s and 70s haunt me. These little dialogues on the fly have a way of cutting through those ancient and false messages delivered by the undeveloped, and unconscious version of my dad. These days, I can almost imagine my dad challenging me to talk back to the old messages he taught me. In relation to my misgivings about a trip to Africa, I can hear him telling me, “Tom, when’s the next time you’re going to have a chance to go to the rainforest?"

Dialogue and Discussion Questions: Longtime SMC readers know that “the Dialogue” section of this article is set aside for a good conversation over a cup of coffee—with a friend, with a group, or just with yourself! As always, feel free to share your reaction or reflection in the “Comments” section below.

• What stood out to you as you read this article that reminded you of your own life?

• Can you identify an internalized message from growing up that has gotten in your way? If so, how have you tried to address it over the years?

• Can you identify helpful internalized messages over the years that have benefitted you? Tell the story of where and how you learned them.

• Are you aware of any dysfunctional generational patterns in your family? What have you done to discontinue them in yourself, and in the family you are constructing?

• Can you tell the story of a significant vacation that had an impact on you?

• Do you take the time for vacation or retreat?      

Please share with the SMC community your thoughts and/or reflections in the comments below.