It’s very hard to make distinctions of suffering. At best, it raises the question of why should we even attempt that. Which pain is worse, which pain is better, who suffers more between me and you. What a vulgar way to treat creatures.
In 1951, a German psychoanalyst called Karen Horney wrote a book with the title “Neurosis and human growth”. The word neurosis was at the peak of its use then, while it’s not as used now. Nonetheless, its meaning largely varied based on who was using it, when and where. Its definition could range from something neither healthy nor psychotic (a kind of mild state of mental illness), or, like in this book, a distance from what she calls Real Self. She says this: “And that is why I speak now and throughout this book of the real self as that central inner force, common to all human beings and yet unique in each, which is the deep source of growth.”. Those who are lucky enough in their upbringing will have few layers above that central authentic part, the others will need time and healing to reach inside for it, because their life and character is defined by shoulds that outnumber the wants. Later on, another psychoanalyst would be known as the “owner” of this concept, studying children in detail to predict what is necessary to develop a True Self. His name was Donald Winnicott.
In this book, Horney mentions anecdotes about her life, which has been at times an example of neurosis rather than authenticity. One is about a train delay that was a great source of discomfort. This discomfort was phrased by her inner voice along these lines: this unfair thing is happening to me. Looking back on this experience and the quality of her emotional reaction, she defines it neurotic pain. In hindsight, she has no trouble empathizing with her annoyance, and finds the frustrating nature of the situation undeniable. Yet, there is a difference between “how unfair, the world is out to get me” and “this sucks, I feel terrible”, and it’s not the intensity. It’s the quality.
“I am owed this” is often at the core of our suffering, although often in disguise. We would refrain from saying it out loud, and it’s rare to even be conscious of it. Nevertheless, there are accurate ways to spot this underlying thought when it lingers inside our complaining.
“I do so much and get nothing back”
”This always happens to me”
”I didn’t deserve this”
“After everything I’ve done, this is what I get”
”Other people get lucky. I never do.”
You’ve heard some version of this. You’ve said some version of this.
And don’t worry, I am not sending the police of dysfunctional your way. I have uttered similar words too.
It’s easy to slip into taking circumstances personally, and it’s equally easy to think: “Well, what happened to me was awful. Should I have not complained or suffered?”, but the point is not suffering. We are allowed to scream in pain, and we’re allowed to change opinion on life, fate, people, after things happen to us. That is a matter of emotional realism: my emotions can and will dictate my perception.
Being owed a retribution, instead, is a delusion. I do not deserve pain simply because I do not deserve anything at all. I don’t deserve good things, I don’t deserve bad things. There’s an element of chance in life that can scare us, leading us to lean on extremes: controlling everything or letting go of everything (the obsessive kind and the depressive kind respectively). In the space outside of these extremes, once again, there is a truer reality: the non-neurotic pain and non-neurotic response for Horney, which we can simply call the response of the sane person.
It goes like this: “Life is partially chaos, partially something I can influence. I recognize that chaos is scary, and I befriend it. It’ll surprise me with beauty at times, and tragedy at other times. Occasionally, it’ll give me what I worked for, and I’ll welcome that with gratitude. When it’ll give me hell, I’ll allow myself all the tears and shouts I need, harboring inside of me an ever present part that knows that’s what life is, and there’s nothing personal about it. I am simply yet another creature that lives, thrives, succumbs, tries.”
The book Rejection, by Tony Tulathimutte, collects disturbingly funny stories of people who experience both: the belief they are owed something, and the constant reminder they aren’t. Instead than updating their internal system as a consequence of reality, they remain split: the grandiose who deserves glory and the pathetic who is left to rot. Too bad they’ll never find out they’re none.
(The whole book can be found here.)
Empatherapy 