Dear GoodTherapy,

Ever since my dad died last year, I have had no one to talk to. And really, I had no one to talk to for the last three years of his life, ravaged as he was by Alzheimer’s.

I don’t have any other family. I have no close friends, no husband or boyfriend, and no children. It’s just me and my constant companions: emptiness, loneliness, and my 8-year-old dog Roxie. When she goes, my life will truly be meaningless. Sometimes I hope she outlives me. If God had told me this would be my life, I would have stayed put.

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I’m not kidding when I say I can go three or four days without saying a word to anyone. I write, but it’s just for me (except this letter). Writing is like talking to myself, so that’s something, I guess. And it keeps me from losing track of language altogether. Sometimes I feel like I’m starting to lose my mind the way Dad did.

So now that you know how pathetic my life is, go ahead and tell me there is “hope” if only I do this, that, and the other thing. I probably won’t believe you, but I wouldn’t be writing if I had given up completely. —In Solitary

Dear Solitary,

Your letter inspires my curiosity, not my advice. I’m not going to tell you to do anything because I believe you already know what to do—you’re just not ready. Perhaps you’re too mad or too sad. Both, maybe? What I will say is caring for your dad for three years took a lot out of you. You’re flattened, your energy seemingly used up.

It’s time for renewal. I think that’s why you wrote this letter. I don’t know what you do to care for yourself. I don’t know what you like to do, what you’d like to learn to do, or what you’d like to do differently, but you probably know the answers. Knowing what to do can be a lot easier than doing it, of course.

I’m not sure what you mean when you write, “If God had told me this would be my life, I would have stayed put.” Stayed put where? In a different house, job, city, state, state of existence? There are hints of hopelessness in your words, but there is always hope. Sometimes it helps when someone removed from your situation points it out. Speaking of hope, I hope you will consider working with a therapist for this reason. No good therapist is going to tell you what to do, but they will walk with you through the hardest parts until you see your own way forward.

Can you use your compassion and commitment for yourself, too? If not, why not?

Had you always lived with your father? Had you always lived the same way? You cared for your dad, Alzheimer’s and all, for three years. You know plenty about commitment and devotion to others. I wonder where and how you learned. Did someone once care for you that way? Can you use your compassion and commitment for yourself, too? If not, why not?

I have a lot of questions. Maybe too many. Do you ever question yourself? You write, so I’m guessing you do.

You are clearly lonely, but you know how to reach people if you want. You’ve put yourself in solitary confinement. I wonder what you’ve done to deserve this. Or what you think you’ve done.

Is it punishment or choice? Maybe you like having time alone, too. After all, you don’t have to take care of anybody except yourself and your dog.

You think your life is “pathetic”? I don’t think so. I think you’ve got plenty going for yourself. You just need to decide to use what you have.

Take care,

Lynn Somerstein, PhD, NCPsyA, C-IAYT

Dear GoodTherapy.org,

I’m an ugly guy. I used to look okay, but I got a bad injury when I was 11. The surgeon did his best, but … there’s a reason I don’t leave my house much. Every time I go out, people stare. That’s why the internet has been a haven for me. Nobody knows what I look like because I use a stock photo for my profile pictures.

As you can guess, finding love hasn’t been easy for me. I’ve tried every dating app under the sun and I never get any responses. I know everybody says the inside is what counts, but women see my face and run before I can get a word out. I can’t really blame them, but it’s still frustrating. I’ve been so lonely, you have no idea.

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But five months ago I found the most amazing girl. We met on a film forum and started geeking out about Quentin Tarantino. The more I talked with this girl, the more I liked her. So when she started flirting with me, it was a dream come true. She’s the first girl who has EVER been interested in me. I couldn’t help but flirt back.

We’ve been in a relationship for five months now. She’s asked to meet a few times (we both live near Chicago), but I’ve been putting it off. My girlfriend got a little mad last time and jokingly asked if I was catfishing her. And it hit me: She was right. I am a catfish.

I didn’t post the fake profile picture to lure anyone in, though. I only wanted people to see the real me, which is basically the opposite of catfishing, right? And I’ve been honest with my girlfriend about everything else. But … ever since that talk, I’ve felt so guilty. I know I should tell my girlfriend the truth, but I don’t want to lose her. The one time I tried to bring it up, I panicked and backed out at the last minute.

What should I do? Should I meet up and listen to whatever my girlfriend has to say? Or will we both hurt less if I break up with her from behind the screen? —Accidental Catfisher

Submit Your Own Question to a Therapist

Dear Accidental Catfisher,

I feel for you. Dating in person is rough enough, but virtual dating adds some notable complications. Knowing who and what you can trust online is a challenge, and the potential for catfishing—defined by Merriam-Webster as setting up a “false personal profile on a social networking site for fraudulent or deceptive purposes”—is one reason that’s so.

You write that you “didn’t post the fake profile picture to lure anyone in,” that you only wanted people to see the “real” you. By that, I assume you mean you wanted people to form their perceptions of you based on your expressions rather than your appearance. That’s understandable. I wonder if, had you revealed early on that your profile photo is an avatar, your love interest would have also understood. Now that things are progressing toward a possible face-to-face meeting, you say you don’t know how to resolve this situation.

Speaking of understandable, your fear of rejection and loss is easy to relate to, as is your panic in the moment with so much at stake. I hear how important this relationship is to you. Relationships call for courage and openness. Writing your letter is both courageous and open of you, which bodes well for your ability to be candid with the people in your life.

I’m not here to tell you what to do. I am here to try to help you understand what your feelings are telling you. For example, the guilt you say you feel may be trying to steer you toward a corrective action—in this case, perhaps fessing up, apologizing, and asking for forgiveness.

You say this is the first time a girl has been interested in you. Relationships are built on authenticity and compassion. Is losing a person who doesn’t value those things above all else really a loss?

I imagine you have placed yourself in her shoes and have considered how you might feel to be told she hadn’t been forthcoming about her appearance. Would that be a problem for you? Would it have been less of a problem early on as opposed to now? Would it be more of a problem to find out in person as opposed to now, over the internet? These are all questions I would want to explore with you in therapy as we thought about how you might proceed.

I would also want to explore some of the self-image concerns I’m hearing, as those concerns may be at the root of everything else that’s going on. You describe yourself with more than a hint of shame, despair, and some longing as well. It’s unfortunate that some of your experiences—being stared at and so on—have reinforced these self-perceptions.

But there’s also clearly a lot to like, based on the fact you have attracted someone special. Those likable things are winning, desirable qualities no matter what. Are they mostly in hiding too? If you feel confident and loving about what’s under the surface, often the surface-level stuff takes care of itself.

You say this is the first time a girl has been interested in you. Relationships are built on authenticity and compassion. Is losing a person who doesn’t value those things above all else really a loss?

So here we are. What’s next? You can disappear and “ghost” her, break up behind the screen, fess up before you meet, or come clean in person. Only you know what is right. Whatever you decide, I recommend that you work with a therapist who will help you face up to yourself and then to others.

I hear that you are reluctant to be “seen.” It’s ultimately what we all want—to be accepted and loved, warts and all. I hope you can offer yourself and your friend some compassion and take the steps necessary to live an authentic life you can feel good about.

Take care,

Lynn Somerstein, PhD, NCPsyA, C-IAYT

Dear GoodTherapy.org,

A few months ago I started dating a woman who has a lot going for her—great personality, whip-smart, professionally accomplished, lots in common including music and sports—but things have not been ideal in the romance department. I think a lot of it has to do with how she kisses me. She has this thing she does (almost every time) where she practically sucks my lips entirely into her mouth, uses her teeth, darts her tongue, and slobbers all over me. It’s way too wet and over-the-top for me, and it distracts heavily from anything else that might be happening. In fact, it not only makes me not want to kiss her, it makes me not want to have sex with her because I know kissing will happen. I have erectile difficulties with her in part, I think, because this is always in the back of my mind. (I have not traditionally had such issues with other women.)

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Before you mention it, I have talked to her candidly about this at least three times, as gently as I can. She knows our kissing isn’t working for me. She has given lip service (pun intended) to wanting to adjust how she kisses me. I have tried to lead the way a few times and asked her to do as I do. Yet she continues to kiss me like my face is a lollipop. I can’t take it anymore.

She is the only person I’ve ever dated who I’ve had this issue with. I am tired of mentioning it, and am starting to get the impression this kissing style is hardwired into her. If that is the case, I don’t see any choice other than to part ways. It’s just not sustainable (to me, anyway) to not want to kiss or have sex with the person I’m seeing. Any advice for me to try to salvage this before I kiss her goodbye? —Death to Smooching

Dear Smooching,

Your friend might benefit from some help and persistence. I know of another similar case involving a college student who thought kissing meant pushing his teeth very hard into his date’s teeth. Needless to say, this was uncomfortable to his partners, and so he soon had no partners—which was a shame because, like your friend, he has many things going for him.

He was inexperienced and trying to seem otherwise; he needed lessons in kissing and some patience, but even more than that, he needed to learn how to choose the right partner. He was dating the kind of person he thought he was supposed to like instead of someone he found truly attractive. This took some time to work out, as he had to let go of his assumptions and find out what came naturally to him instead of playing the part he thought he was supposed to play.

Your date’s kissing style, as you describe it, seems uniquely hers, but that doesn’t necessarily mean it’s what comes naturally to her. Like the college student, she may be playing a part and over-acting to make up for certain feelings, perhaps including inadequacy. Without knowing her, however, that’s purely speculation. On the other hand, she may feel her kisses are genuinely sexy—and perhaps to some people they might be, but they are clearly not sexy to you. In fact, they turn you off.

Like sex, kissing needs to deliver mutual enjoyment. Focusing on pleasing your partner while being pleased yourself can be uniquely satisfying. Clearly, your friend is not focusing on your desire. Do you focus on hers? Are you able to? It sounds more like you are trying to endure her kisses since they are not pleasurable to you. Even though you’ve told her, she doesn’t seem able to understand what you’re saying, or if she does, the information simply isn’t sticking. Perhaps there is anxiety around this issue on the part of both of you at this point, but it’s hard to say without getting her perspective.

Let her know you’re coming from a place of concern and wanting to make a good thing (the relationship aside from kissing/sex) better. Let her know that what is happening is preventing you from enjoying her kisses—and you so want to enjoy her kisses!

It sounds like your relationship is in its infancy, so I’m not sure how invested you feel in it, but you describe this woman as having a lot of desirable qualities you might not want to give up. Maybe it’s worth considering going to see a couples therapist or a sex therapist together. It sounds like it couldn’t hurt. If you’re thinking about ending things with her, you have everything to gain and nothing to lose by seeking help.

In the meantime, tell her what you like and don’t like—again. Continue to be gentle, but be honest and clear. Let her know you’re coming from a place of concern and wanting to make a good thing (the relationship aside from kissing/sex) better. Let her know that what is happening is preventing you from enjoying her kisses—and you so want to enjoy her kisses!

Also, ask her explicitly what, specifically, she finds pleasurable. It’s a two-way street, and if this kissing style has worked for her in the past, it’s possible your approach feels foreign to her. I’m wondering if you might both benefit from taking things more slowly. That means feeling your way through kissing, one movement and reaction at a time. If one or both of you is anxious, stop, relax, and wait until you’re ready to begin again. Starting, holding back, starting again, and releasing after a time—that’s sexy. Perhaps some wine, music, and/or low lights to help set the mood?

A kiss is still a kiss, as they say, but your friend needs to work on her style if she’d like more of yours. If you want to sustain or, better yet, improve your relationship, keep doing what you can to help her.

Kind regards,

Lynn Somerstein, PhD, NCPsyA, C-IAYT

Dear GoodTherapy.org,

I’ve managed to get to age 66 without writing a will. The thought has always terrified me, but now it’s more real than ever. As my kids start (gently) pressuring me to consider talking to a lawyer about finally drawing one up, I’m feeling more and more anxious about it.

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Death doesn’t really scare me so much, but having a document that my family will read when I die makes it terribly real. It brings up images in my head of them all going through it together and everything being so final. I know I’m at an age where I can no longer ignore it or put it off, but I stubbornly want to never deal with it.

Do you have any advice for someone who is anxious to tears about doing this? Or any thoughts about how to get through the process without falling apart? —Wills and Grace

Dear WAG,

I’m sorry to hear about your struggle. End-of-life matters are inherently unpleasant, but it sounds like your anxiety is running overtime and making those matters much worse. First and foremost, I recommend working with a therapist who can help you better understand the nature and origin of your anxious feelings. That insight may yield opportunities to identify soothing and coping strategies that make it easier for you to follow through on the difficult task of developing a will.

“Thy will be done”—sooner rather than later. And although you didn’t ask, this applies to health proxies and powers of attorney as well. These are important legal documents designed to safeguard yourself and your family. See a lawyer, then write, sign, and file these papers, which are designed to make everyone’s life easier, including your own. Tell your kids where they can find them. Give them copies.

The original documents should be kept in a safe place. Safe place doesn’t necessarily mean safe deposit box, because your kids will not be able to enter that box without your prior written permission. Arrange with the bank and one of your kids so they have permission to open the box; otherwise, they will need a court order. Give that kid their own key and let them all know where your bank is.

In fact, organize your financial documents and tell your kids where they are. I keep mine in the upper left-hand drawer of my desk, and my kids know that. Let your kids know the names and contact information for your doctors, lawyers, and bank. Make a list of important information and give it to them. You will also need to ask someone to be your executor, the person in charge of carrying out your wishes.

If it seems like I speak from experience, it’s because I do. I have a will, and it divides my estate among family members and gives a little bit to the public library and some other places.

I assume you have assets. If you become seriously ill, your kids may need these assets to help pay for your medical care. Make it easy for them in both your life and your death, which, you write, “doesn’t scare you.” Just thinking about it does! Yes, this all makes the prospect of your death terribly real. Death is terribly real for everybody; unfortunately, ignoring it doesn’t prevent it.

You worry about “falling apart” while getting this all together. I’m not sure what you mean by that, but I do know that by 66 you’ve done a lot of hard things, probably fell apart doing some of them, and then put yourself back together. Here’s your chance to do that again.

You write that you “stubbornly” don’t want to deal with your eventual death, but it’s your kids who will have to deal with it. Your kids will be dealing with their sorrow and maybe also their frustration with your unwillingness to prepare for their future without you. You sound like you love them, and I’m guessing if you’re 66 they may be in their 30s or 40s, which means you’ve seen them through many difficulties and perhaps crises of their own. Here’s your last chance—literally the last—to take care of your kids. Do it for your kids, if not for yourself.

You’re concerned about your family reading your will, but you don’t say what it is that concerns you. Yes, it is sad to think of your kids reading your final wishes and reacting to your death. It’s even worse thinking of them having to sort out your finances while they are in states of grief. They’ll be grieving if you don’t have a will or if you do have one, but I imagine they’ll feel worse if you haven’t prepared them for how you want things to go when you die. They have been asking you, after all. They’re concerned. Would they be angry with you if you don’t have a will?

You worry about “falling apart” while getting this all together. I’m not sure what you mean by that, but I do know that by 66 you’ve done a lot of hard things, probably fell apart doing some of them, and then put yourself back together. Here’s your chance to do that again. You might ask a trusted friend or relative if they can help, or you might consult a therapist along the way. Aging gives us many things to worry about; death may be the least of them.

It is very painful to imagine yourself separated from the people you love. You won’t know what happens next in their stories, and that is sad. I personally would love to meet my great grandchildren and their children, too, or at least see into the future and know their biographies. Our children’s lives will go on without us, as they should. But as their lives proceed, the part we played continues to live on within them. Keep those memories clear, lead the way forward, and show them a positive model of aging and death.

I wish you well as you navigate this struggle.

Kind regards,

Lynn Somerstein, PhD, E-RYT

Everyone has some sense of their future, and the way that sense is experienced may have an impact on whether a person is successful or not. Does your future feel threatening or promising? Do you feel able to make plans and carry them out, or do you feel powerless to make a difference? Do things invariably get better, worse, or go back and forth? Is everything always the same?

Psychotherapy is concerned with the past, the present, and the future: how individuals experience their abilities and picture their lives unfolding. Do they feel organized, goal-oriented, powerful? Positive about themselves? Are they scared to think about the future?

One determinant of how people feel about the future is a process called “attachment.” Attachment describes the ways people connect to themselves and others. Though attachment styles develop in childhood and persist through the adult years, they are amenable to therapeutic intervention. Understanding your attachment styles and how they can affect the future is a powerful psychotherapeutic tool. Your feelings about yourself determine how you see your life path.

Styles of Attachment

1. Secure
2. Anxious–preoccupied
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4. Fearful–avoidant

Secure attachment hardly needs any explanation. People who are securely attached are easily able to form close relationships with others, and they can generally be said to have good self-knowledge. A person who experiences secure attachment is likely to know what they want and how to reach their goals.

People who are anxious and preoccupied may want to be close to others, but they generally find this difficult. While they might know what they want in the future, and take steps to arrive at the desired goal, these steps might be tentative and feel painful.

Dismissive-avoidant people are typically comfortable when they are not in relationships and need to feel independent and self-sufficient. They may have few fantasies about their futures. If they have goals, they expect to reach them without help from anyone. If they are helped, they may not recognize it.

People who are fearful and avoidant typically find it difficult to trust others or themselves. The future may simply feel like doom to them, and so they prefer to avoid thinking about it.

Addressing Attachment Styles in Therapy

Therapy can directly affect attachment styles. The relationship between the therapist and the person in treatment can help highlight behaviors displayed with others as well as one’s feelings about the self. We can use this process to understand the past and its effects in the present and also to understand how people see their future, develop worthy goals, and learn how to work towards achieving them.

I find in my work with people it is important to be specific about how current behaviors lead to future outcomes. I encourage people to fantasize about what kind of life they want in the future, how they see themselves in a year, or two, or five. Our expectations influence what we see.

Here’s an example:

The relationship between the therapist and the person in treatment can help highlight behaviors displayed with others as well as one’s feelings about the self. We can use this process to understand the past and its effects in the present and also to understand how people see their future, develop worthy goals, and learn how to work towards achieving them.

A woman, let’s call her Francine, experienced multiple anxiety attacks and came to me for help. Our immediate goal was to help Francine learn ways to reduce those attacks, so we talked together about her difficulties and, most importantly, I taught her a breathing routine that reduced her anxiety. Our work concerned her life in the present, and it became clear that she was anxious and preoccupied and somewhat avoidant.

After her anxiety attacks were under control, she began talking about the severe sexual trauma she had experienced. Clearly this trauma was a precipitating factor to her anxiety attacks, and as we spoke about her painful past experiences they gradually came to feel less threatening. I served as a trusted witness, which helped Francine metabolize and digest the trauma. Much of our work together was about trust, more specifically, her learning to trust herself and others.

Once Francine felt stable and clear about her past and secure in the present she could deal with her anxieties for her future and talk about her fears and her wishes. Francine had wanted to go to graduate school for a long time, but she was always scared that she would fail. She had a long list of things she thought she couldn’t do—which came down to her belief that she wasn’t smart enough and she did not know how to study.

These thoughts led us back to her past. Her father was a school principal, and he always told her she wasn’t smart and didn’t know how to study. Now she knew where and how these self-defeating thoughts originated, and she gradually became more realistic. She felt stronger and more in control, until she was eventually able to picture herself in graduate school.

She applied to an MA program and was accepted. Graduate school is demanding, but it was what she wanted, and she says this is the happiest time in her life.

Our work together began in the present, accessed the past, and progressed towards envisioning the future. Although weekly therapy is no longer necessary, Francine checks in when she needs.

References:

1. Murphy, B., & Bates, G. (1997). Personality and individual differences: Adult attachment style and vulnerability to depression. Personality and Individual Differences, 22(6). 835-844.
2. Nieves, W. (2014). The future. Psychiatria, 11(3). 155-159.

Rona and Crandall have been married for many years. When they first got together, Rona learned Crandall had a history of talking in his sleep. He thought it was just a cool fact about himself, but Rona didn’t think it was cool at all—he scared her sometimes when he shouted and thrashed at invisible demons, but he usually calmed at her touch or the sound of her voice. Sleep talking is fairly common, and they lived with it.

With aging, his conditioned worsened. One night, Rona woke up after he banged her in the head with his elbow. She thought it was an accident, but it began to happen more and more often. When she told him what was happening, he didn’t know what she was talking about. Once or twice his elbow found her eye socket, and that was frightening. She pushed him off and he usually responded, but sometimes she had to push him really hard. The next morning she’d complain about his behavior, and he’d either deny it or get angry.

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A few times when Crandall woke during the night to go to the bathroom, he became confused and couldn’t find the bed. Once, Rona woke up to see Crandall pressing his body against the bedroom window; she was scared he would fall out. He was sleepwalking. She was afraid he would hurt himself, maybe fall down the stairs leading to their bedroom, but he laughed and said that would never happen.

They had a nightlight in the bathroom, but to be safe Rona suggested they add another light in the bedroom. Rona thought there was a chance the added light would wake Crandall when he was sleepwalking, but it didn’t seem to have much effect. The attacks on Rona’s head became more frequent, happening a few nights a week and sometimes repeatedly on those nights.

Rona thought Crandall had a sleep disorder. She told him that she didn’t feel safe sleeping with him and would sleep in the spare bedroom. That caught his attention and he decided to consult a sleep doctor. Except he didn’t. Crandall was a procrastinator in general, and consulting a sleep doctor was frightening. He wanted to consult “the best” sleep doctor. When Rona asked him how he was going to find the right doctor, he said he hadn’t thought about it, so Rona suggested he consult his physician and ask for a referral. Crandall got angry, accused Rona of making a big deal out of nothing, and denied his strange behavior, but later agreed some of what she said was accurate. Crandall was very frightened; as many people do, he denied his fear and felt mad and suspicious instead.

Crandall had a problem with REM sleep—REM, which stands for rapid eye movement, is a normal state of sleep that happens several times a night and is characterized by vivid dreaming. The eyes move rapidly, and often the body is restless; pulse and breathing rates speed up, but ordinarily the person remains asleep. During REM sleep, voluntary movement of the body is suppressed.

A REM sleep disorder describes a condition where body movement is not suppressed and the person acts out dreams by shouting or thrashing or sleepwalking, or even by attacking a sleep partner. Often the REM disorder is discovered not by the sleeper but by the partner. REM sleep behavior disorder, or RBD, can be dangerous to both the sleeper and the partner.

RBD has punched a hole in the intimacies of their marriage. They will have to work to find other ways to nourish their bond.

A person with RBD consults a sleep doctor for appropriate diagnosis and treatment and to see if there are underlying neurological or other issues needing treatment. If the person is on several medications, RBD could signal a drug interaction problem. Medication can also help with RBD.

RBD presents serious safety issues for both Rona and Crandall. Crandall’s sleep environment will have to be made safe. Potentially dangerous objects must be removed from the room, and stairway and window protections may be necessary. Until Crandall’s treatment is successfully under way, Rona would be wise to sleep in the spare bedroom. Crandall might find sleeping separately hard to handle; Rona may adjust more easily.

The emotional fallout may be tough. Rona can’t trust Crandall at night, and now she can’t sleep as soundly as she needs. Her body tells her to stay away from him. He can’t trust himself not to hurt her. RBD has punched a hole in the intimacies of their marriage. They will have to work to find other ways to nourish their bond.

RBD is a condition best treated by a medical doctor, but the effects of living with RBD need other kinds of intervention too. Perhaps Rona and Crandall can consult a marriage counselor or individual therapists to work on alleviating the harm caused by RBD, which places them both in physical and emotional jeopardy. They need to develop different kinds of closeness, ways, and places they can feel safe together again.

Note: The couple depicted in the preceding account is fictional and used for illustrative purposes only.

Dear GoodTherapy.org,

How can I make my family understand that I’m not ready for marriage yet? For most of my life, I have been told by my parents (mostly my mom) to stay away from boys and to focus on my schoolwork and landing a good job. Now that I’m older, my mom comes out of the blue and starts lecturing me on finding a boyfriend, getting married, and having kids. I’m comfortable being on my own right now. —Happily Single

Submit Your Own Question to a Therapist

Dear Happily Single,

Parents are like that—mothers especially. They know what they want for their daughters, so they tell them how to get it and nag them until they do. It’s fine for your mother to have ambitions and ideas as they relate to you, but it is not okay for her to push them on you. She wants you to want what she wants for you—not what you want for you.

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You don’t say whether you fulfilled your mother’s expectations to “stay away from boys” and focus on schoolwork and getting a good job. Parenting directives of that nature come from a good place and may be appropriate when you’re a teenager. You don’t say how old you are now, but I gather you’re not a teenager anymore. And while your mom may still mean well, only your internal directives matter now.

In your mother’s eyes, getting married and having kids is the next step. Perhaps you will want those things in the future, perhaps not. The bottom line is you’re not there. You are not ready to get married and have kids and you are self-aware enough to know that. So stick to your guns. Now is the time to explore who you are now and to pursue the life you envision for yourself now.

Learning to advocate for yourself, to not take the bait, isn’t easy. But you may find it an enormously helpful life skill that comes in handy more times than you can imagine, and in a great variety of situations. Just because someone invites you to an argument doesn’t mean you have to go.

But what can you do about your mother? How can you make her stop? I’d start by suggesting you tell her to back off, but I have the feeling you’ve done that and it hasn’t worked. You can’t change her and make her stop talking about what she wants you to do, just as she can’t change you and make you do what she wants. But you can change how you respond to her.

You might try a karate master’s technique and let your mother’s energy just whiz by you. Summon your internal energy or resolve. Focus on your strength and feel your power. Let your mother’s words flow past you. Focus on your breath, stay centered, and let her words go by.

My grandmother used to say to me, “I’m going to tell you something. Promise you won’t get mad.” I would promise, then listen to what she had to say and get mad anyway. This went on for years, until I learned to say, “If you know I’m going to get mad at you, why do you say it?” After a time, she stopped handing out her free advice and we got along much better.

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You might take a similar approach, but one that could prove effective right away: keep your response centered on your feelings about the behavior, not the behavior itself. Use “I” statements, not “you” statements, as the latter tend to elicit defensiveness when the goal is empathy and understanding. When your mother throws out a line with the hook, “When are you going to find a nice boy and settle down and get married?” you can refuse to bite and tell her succinctly, “I know those words come from a place of concern for me, but I have made my position on this clear. It hurts me when my feelings are ignored. It makes me feel like I can’t be who I am.” See if that makes a difference. If she continues to press and you continue to feel burdened by her expectations, you might consult a therapist in your area who can help you learn strategies for coping with the distress your mother’s words are causing you. Again, you can’t change your mom, but you can change how she affects you.

Learning to advocate for yourself, to not take the bait, isn’t easy. But you may find it an enormously helpful life skill that comes in handy more times than you can imagine, and in a great variety of situations. Just because someone invites you to an argument doesn’t mean you have to go.

If you’d like to read more about this, check out Pema Chödrön’s audio book Don’t Bite the Hook: Finding Freedom from Anger, Resentment, and Other Destructive Emotions.

Kind regards,

Lynn Somerstein, PhD, E-RYT

Dear GoodTherapy.org,

My biological parents gave me up for adoption when I was born. I’m sure they had their reasons, and I am probably better for it since I grew up in a very loving family and turned out as well as could be expected. I’ve never wanted for anything. I have a great life, a great career, and a great family of my own now. I’m 45 years old. I don’t feel traumatized. I’m actually relieved my birth parents made the decision they did. I’ve never asked my adoptive parents about them.

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As I have gotten older, though, I have had more and more thoughts about my biological parents. I find myself wondering about the circumstances that led them to give me up, whether they’re still alive, and if so, what they’re like today. I wonder if they think of me, too. And I wonder what it would be like to meet them. I had never felt compelled to go down this road until recently, so I’m not sure what’s bringing these feelings to the surface.

I guess I just don’t know if it’s wise, from the standpoint of my mental health, to pursue this. Like I said, my life is great without them in it. Also, while I wonder if my life could be enhanced by knowing more about the people who gave me life and connecting with them after all these years, I am mindful of the possibility I will only learn upsetting things. Who knows? Maybe they wouldn’t even want anything to do with me.

What do you think? —Left Wondering

Submit Your Own Question to a Therapist

Dear Wondering,

It is only natural you would wonder about who your birth parents are, what they’re like, and why they decided to put you up for adoption. Who wouldn’t be curious? You write that your life, career, and family are satisfying, and perhaps you’d like them to know that. Maybe you also wonder what your life would have been like if you hadn’t been adopted. These days, there are numerous ways to look for people that may help you find your birth family—if you decide you want to.

Many years ago, adoption information was not recorded or, if it was, the records were closed, but since 1980 most adoptive records are open. If you decide to look for more information, you can use social media, genealogy websites, and open records that should give you access to your birth certificate and other information. I personally know one person who found her birth mother on Facebook.

You wonder what it might be like to meet your family of origin. Different people have different experiences, of course. You might find out you have siblings, for example. You might feel you have little in common with your birth family or, on the contrary, there is a lot you share. There is only one way to know the answer, but would the answer be worth the time and emotional energy you expend?

You are worried about how this would affect your mental health. That is a good question, and I suggest this is such a big question that you might want to work with a therapist or professional adoption adviser who could accompany you on your journey. You would be hunting down the past and bringing it into the present. Working out whether you really want to do that, and then how to proceed if you do, may be no simple task. Finding your birth parents and meeting them would likely necessitate a big adjustment on everyone’s part.

You may fear rejection. Many people do. You birth family may have the same fears about you, and you might also reject your birth family once you meet them; there’s no way to know. Your adoptive family could fear losing you. This delicate decision to find your birth parents requires a combination of wisdom and courage.

I don’t know if you ever watched the TV show This Is Us. It has many threads, but one of the important plot lines concerns looking for and finding a birth parent. You might want to watch the show and see what it brings up for you. Chances are, you have plenty of your own fodder.

I wonder if you know other people who have been adopted. If so, you might like to discuss your feelings with them and get to know how they understand their adoption. Talking to your partner is important, too.

It sounds like you never discussed this with your adoptive family. It may feel like a delicate issue to bring up, but they could be enormously helpful in your search and may even feel it is important for all of you.

You may fear rejection. Many people do. You birth family may have the same fears about you, and you might also reject your birth family once you meet them; there’s no way to know. Your adoptive family could fear losing you. This delicate decision to find your birth parents requires a combination of wisdom and courage.

Either decision—to know or not to know—is wise and brave. Only you can decide what is the right path for you. Whatever you choose, I admire your curiosity and your process. You are not taking this lightly, nor should you.

Good luck, and I hope you check back in and let me know what happens.

Take care,

Lynn Somerstein, PhD, E-RYT

I hardly dare to write or even think about suicide, a topic difficult enough to discuss when it is not outright painful. Suicide, attempted or completed, has touched the lives of many. You may know someone who has died by suicide or someone who has made an attempt. You may have experienced thoughts of suicide yourself.

There are people who consider the act of suicide to be a sin, an act tantamount to murder, and consider it unforgivable under any circumstances. My personal belief, though, is that some situations, such as long-term physical pain or terminal illness, may make suicide seem like a rational course of action. Of course, emotional pain can be intolerable too. Severe depression, for example, which may feel endless and can be a match for tormenting physical pain, can often play a part in the development of suicidal thoughts.

When someone we love dies by suicide, whatever the reason behind their choice, we are likely to feel unspeakable grief. We may feel angry or hurt; we may perhaps experience guilt. Along with these emotions, we might feel a desire for answers and explanations. We want to know why this happened, how it could have happened.

When A Loved One Dies By Suicide

People who complete suicide sometimes leave notes or discuss their plans with loved ones. Other people might say nothing. Even when we have some knowledge or understanding of a person’s reasons, suicide leaves us ungrounded. We need something to hold onto.

I myself know people who have died by suicide. My father’s cousin, who was fatally ill, asked to be removed from his respirator so he could die on his own terms. Another of my cousins who was incurably ill and in pain did something similar. They both said goodbye to close family members before passing on.

One lovely young man I knew who was battling addiction also chose to end his life. He was extraordinarily kind, funny and smart—a feeling soul. Before he died, he took his mother on a trip to the northwestern United States, a place they had both wanted to visit. I don’t know if they discussed his plans, but I do believe this was his way to say goodbye and tell her he loved her. I do feel he was, in some way, looking to be close to her and compensate, in a way, for his death. [fat_widget_left]

Some months after this young man’s death, I read a Facebook post from an older woman, a message that was unusually warm.  Her wishes to her friends and her thoughts about life were so lovely—it took time and rereading to realize it had been a goodbye to those of us reading, a suicide note—that, in fact, she had already passed on by the time I read the post. Many of us wrote back, remembering her gifts and her compassion, expressing their love. I was not the only person who couldn’t believe she was dead.

A colleague with an incurable disease planned her suicide very carefully. She wanted to make sure she would succeed. She wanted to protect her husband and children. She wanted to live as long and as well as she could, and then she wanted to die.

Again, I hesitate to write about suicide. My intention is not to inflict pain, to challenge anyone’s beliefs, or to cause difficult feelings. I only want to help those left behind, the survivors, survive, but I’m not sure if I can.

The people I’ve written about just now had deep relationships with others. They took care of the people around them, both in their lives and in their deaths. Each of these people understood what they were doing and knew their choice would have an impact on the people close to them.

They said goodbye, either directly or metaphorically, to make sure those who survived them knew they were loved. And though their absence left a painful, unreal space, a hole, they are all still alive inside of me. There are always reminders that they are gone, as there should be. They were here, but now they are physically not, though they live in memories and as part of our emotions.

Some might consider love and suicide to be antithetical. But I believe death and love are both so big that they encompass their meanings and their opposites, their synonyms and their antonyms.

To me, the most touching death of all was that of the young man who traveled with his mother before he died. The enormity of his love, and of all that he left behind, is almost more than I can bear. I find his death so poignant because he was young—not yet thirty—and because he and his mother embodied the primal pair of mother and child. Birth and love. Ultimate connection, followed by the ultimate disconnection. But not. (The iconic image of the Pieta—the Virgin Mary holding the body of the dead Christ in her lap, appears before my eyes as I write this.)

When your life has been touched by suicide, working through the complicated feelings that develop can be a challenging process. The support of a qualified therapist or counselor can often be of benefit. If you are having thoughts of suicide, we urge you to reach out. The 988 Suicide & Crisis Lifeline (988) is available at any time, day or night. Additional crisis information and resources are available here.

If you would like to read further on this topic, I suggest Linda Phillips’ book A Beautiful Here: Emerging from the Overwhelming Darkness of My Son’s Suicide. [amazon_affiliate]

Dear GoodTherapy.org,

I’m afraid of everything. I seriously mean everything. Spiders, clowns, heights, germs, dying, dogs, small spaces, large crowds, undercooked meats, darkness, terrorist attacks, natural disasters … I could go on. These irrational fears have been affecting my life for as long as I can remember, and I never seem to get over them. If anything, I only find new things I’m afraid of.

I did a ton of research to find a place to live that was least risky—no hurricanes, no tornadoes, unlikely earthquakes, the least number of bugs, etc. I’ve insulated myself as much as humanly possible. I’m still miserable and afraid.

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Only a small number of these fears actually have roots in personal experiences. For instance, I was once bitten by a large dog, which explains my fear of dogs. But I have never been traumatized by a clown, never been caught in a violent attack, never experienced a natural disaster. I never had a negative experience in an elevator, but I have a panic attack almost every time I step foot in one.

Why do these things bother me so much? Is it possible to “cure” fears that have no basis in personal history? I want to live more freely and feel better about normal things and occurrences that should, at most, evoke minimal discomfort. Please help! —Dread Locked

Dear Dread Locked,

You write that you are scared of everything and there is no reason for most of your fears. I disagree. I think you do have reasons, even if you may not be fully aware of them, and these reasons can be worked with.

Sure, if you’ve been bitten by a dog, it makes logical sense you’d be afraid of dogs—there’s a reason for the saying “once bitten, twice shy,” after all. But you don’t have to have been in an elevator, necessarily, to be afraid of elevators—claustrophobia (fear of being trapped in small places) and agoraphobia (fear of situations that might cause panic and feelings of helplessness) are both pretty common.

Some of the other fears you describe—fear of spiders (arachnophobia), fear of heights (acrophobia), fear of germs (mysophobia), fear of clowns (coulrophobia), fear of dying (thanatophobia), and fear of earthquakes (seismophobia)—are prevalent enough to have their own names, too.

You ask whether there is a cure. That’s a strong word, and while nothing is guaranteed, I feel confident in saying therapy can help you understand your fears better, which in turn may help you manage them in more effective and productive ways.

It’s telling to me that you describe your fears as irrational. If you look at these fears, you no doubt recognize they are about things and events that do sometimes happen or present problems in human experience, but remember: the brain is wired to protect itself. Consider your fear of dying, for instance. Would you agree most people fear death on some level? Fundamentally, fear of death is protective, as it is our brain telling us to make decisions that are in the best interests of its preservation. Your brain is in fact being rational, not irrational, when it tells you to, say, keep your distance from the edge of the cliff, or to slow down, or to not eat those two-week-old leftovers. (Thanks, brain!)

Some of these fears can also go along with emotional experiences—claustrophobia, for example, can be linked to early experiences. You may not have been stuck in an elevator at any point, but you may have a history of being stuck or trapped in other, perhaps figurative, more emotional ways. As a result, seeking and finding safety may have become paramount in your life. Based on the extent of your fears and the lengths to which you go to avoid feeling fearful, I imagine that being vulnerable—as we all are in one way or another—is not something that sits especially well with you.

Can you do anything about being fearful? Well, yes. I think your best bet would be to seek a therapist who specializes in helping people with anxiety, fear, and worry. Starting therapy can be scary too, of course, but working with someone who is grounded, accepting, and knowledgeable about how to help people in your situation is a fine step toward learning how to handle your feelings.

You say you’ve “insulated” yourself as much as “humanly possible,” but you are still afraid and “miserable.” Clearly, the actions you’ve taken to protect yourself, while well-intentioned, aren’t working for you. You yearn for some relief. You ask whether there is a cure. That’s a strong word, and while nothing is guaranteed, I feel confident in saying therapy can help you understand your fears better, which in turn may help you manage them in more effective and productive ways.

I salute you for identifying an issue that is blocking you. You’ve taken a fine first step by writing in and explaining your situation. I wish you well as you take the next step in addressing your fears by partnering with a qualified mental health professional.

Take care,

Lynn