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What’s wrong with my approach?

He sat down before his laptop, extending a finger to the screen like he was adjusting controls, a pilot making final preparations ahead of the flight. He adjusted his seat, making it higher, or at least higher such that he could aim his gaze downwardly at me. A requirement, I figured. “Good morning,” he said chirpily. I returned a tense greeting, feeling a bit like I did the last time I was in a dentist chair. Where are those torturous needles, I wondered? I always imagine that when I go there, my hygienist will start off lightly, performing a gentle prodding here and there with puffy, soft fingers. The only pressure I’d feel would be in my gums as they harden, showing off their sturdy endurance. Hmm…looks good, you’re doing well, I expect to hear.

“So, what’s your problem with my approach?”, my colleague asked. My colleague? Are we intertwined, at odds, collaborative in any way. I don’t know else to call him. My interlocutor seemed best in the moment.

“Right, straight in, I see”. With the needles, I added inwardly. “Well, let’s see. Where to begin”. He chuckled, thinking this a friendly exercise. He opened his mouth, readying a statement. I think the question was a ruse. He didn’t really want me to start. He wanted to appear inviting, but actually spear in with his driving oratory, his oral assault. I opened up, bore my gums, my weakened incisors, and intoned, “I basically think that mental health treatment is a morally neutral exercise, as psychoanalysis prescribes, or has prescribed. And…”

“I guess that’s where we disagree”, he interrupted. He was still smiling. This was still a friendly exercise, though I knew what was coming next. “I mean, I understand that old school approach, taking a neutral position, but I think that has falsely justified a lot of neglect, especially of victims, over time”.

There were already balls in the air, forcing choices upon what to juggle. Old school? I mused. A pejorative term, I think, signifying a kind of philistine ageism: what’s old is out, or should be. What’s new is necessarily that and ought to be ushered in asap.

“We might, though you’ve stepped in before I’ve even named the alternative to neutrality. Should I yield and just…let you?”

“No, go ahead”

“By the way, are we recording?”

“Yes”. He was now terse: impatient to move on, or offended that I’d questioned his piloting skills.

“I think your approach is essentially moralistic. Dominantly so, actually. And I know what you might say, what you have said: that psychotherapy, or analysis, is an ethical framework. It is set up as an ethical entity, representing, if you will, moral values. However, it isn’t meant to be moralistic, I and many others think. It’s—”

“But what’s moralistic in my approach? I mean, I tell people it’s their choice, their decisions on what approach to take. I’m not forcing anything on anyone”

“For the moment, that’s besides the point I’m not yet making, because this part of the discussion isn’t about authority, as you’re suggesting. By moralistic, I mean offering the patient an idea, a lesson essentially, that is intended to leverage a change by appealing to their moral reasoning”

“Right”. More impatience, inflected with wary distrust.

I continued: “You, say such and such a behavior is wrong. You say it hurts others. You add that it hurts others in ways they haven’t noticed, either they didn’t know or didn’t want to know, and that distinction gets short shrift because the nature of their resistance is to be dismissed—”

“They’re narcissistic”

“—by assessment/partially diagnostic labels that are a shorthand for an explanation of why someone is acting in a certain way”

“Hold on, you don’t think that problem behaviors, the ones we typically speak of, are a result of narcissism?”

“I’m not saying that. I’m saying that labels like that are not motivational. If a person is stirred to an action that’s adaptive or not, they don’t go ‘well, I’m narcissistic’ as their half-conscious understanding of their desire in any given moment”

“Wouldn’t you agree that they’re not thinking of other people, specifically their loved ones, in such a moment?”

“We don’t know that, and I think you’re assuming that if they did think of loved ones, it would deter problem behaviors because that’s what thinking of loved ones does”

“Not necessarily. I know that people have mixed feelings towards loved ones, that they feel ambivalent. I get that”

“Well, I don’t hear that represented in your approach. As far as I can tell, it’s all about drawing attention to the negative effects of problem behavior with the expectation that your listener will then feel inspired to stop doing the problem behavior, thus healing can proceed. It’s like one of those TV ads that show half-starved, shivering animals laying in a shelter, looking miserable. You’re meant to feel sorry, get off your ass and either adopt one or make a donation. The ads not saying, what are your mixed feelings towards the neglected that might lead you to NOT act”

“Well, sure, you want people to act appropriately. What’s wrong with taking steps to elicit appropriate guilt?”

I stuttered, half-incredulously. Where to begin. “See, there’s the crux of your method: appropriate guilt. You think because you’ve called it that, and because your patient will consciously agree, as in agreeably if dolefully nod their head, that they will change their ways. What’s wrong with that? We don’t need therapists or analysts to play that role, is what’s wrong with that? That’s what preachers and social justice warriors are for, to persuade rather than explore thoughts, seeking to understand conflicting thoughts and feelings, not to vanquish them. You’re a mental health professional, and now I’ll be directive if not directly moralistic: it shouldn’t be that difficult to persuade you that persuasion as a tactic is at best limited as an intervention; at worst, it’s counter-effective. People resist being told what to do or manipulated in how to feel”

“That’s not what I do”

“I think it is what you do”

“It’s not. How can I persuade you?”

I paused. “Do you do case conferences with your colleagues, your team, as you put it?”

“Of course, we meet regularly, discuss cases, prepare a plan of action, discussion interventions”

“Do you each read transcripts from sessions, verbatim or near-verbatim notes, or make recordings, as we’re doing?”

“No”, he said tiredly.

“Then how do you really know how each of you is responding to patients’ process? How do you know how you’re persuading patients to experience appropriate guilt, as you put, or else being interested in their ambivalent feelings. And how, if you don’t hear instances of patient responses to your statements, how do you know if they’re really thinking about what you’re saying versus merely complying with your pronouncements? And why, for example, if they glean from the outset that you think they should feel guilty about their actions, would they even tell you about their mixed thoughts and feelings”

“Wait, aren’t you presuming that people will only share their feelings if they expect validation? I’d suggest that when people come to me, they already feel some guilt. I’ve not imposed that upon them, as you’re implying. They expect to hear push back. Secretly, I think—here’s an in-depth interpretation for you—they’ve longed for someone to take a hold of them and tell them what to do, persuade them that what they’re doing is against their values”

“That’s the authority piece, and you may have a point that people are looking for a version of parenting via the therapeutic relationship”

“Well then?”

Now I chuckled. “Interesting. You say that as if you think the matter resolved”

“Well, you seem like you’re affirming that a parent-like, values-validating approach is indicated, which would be healing. What’s next?”

“Indeed”

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A psychoanalyst and sex addiction specialist spar

G: Hey there, welcome. This is Graeme Daniels, psychoanalyst and author. I am a co-author of Getting Real About Sex Addiction and more recently, the author of An Analyst in Training, and I am the winner of the American Psychoanalytic Association’s Lee Jaffe prize for my paper, “Panal Treatment of an Alcoholic with Substitute Addictions”. I am here today with a guest, dr. Davide Sakmanov, host of the podcast, “the empathy coach”, plus the workbook, “do it the right way: a practical guide for behaving properly”. Davide Sakmanov, welcome to the show.

D: Thankyou for having me

G. So, Dr. Sakmanov—sorry, the doctor—is that a medical title?

D: No, it’s a sobriquet, as it were

G. A nickname? So, you’re Doctor Davide?

D: I prefer coach Davide. The doctor thing is more of a nom de guerre, if you will

G: Nom de guerre. So, this is war. And you’re not a doctor

D: Not as such

G: Or an academic?

D: Umm…define academic

G: a Ph.d, for example

D: No, not a Ph.d. Sorry, are we here to discuss my credentials?

G. Only if you don’t have any?

D: Alright, if it’s like that, then I’m an MSW, a CCPSC…

G: MSW—social work. CCPSC?

D: Certified Process Safety Professional

G. Is that a mental health credential?

D: It can be. Look, I thought we’re here to talk about my intervention model for the treatment of sex addicts and their impacted partners. You’ve written your big to-do paper on “substitute addictions” or whatever—good for you, and I read it in fact—but I’m here to talk about my model of care that emphasizes empathy. I call it the 2 Es idea—emphasis and empathy—that are the building blocks of a paradigm that has drawn countless listeners and followers…

G: Countless? I mean, if you’re referring to your podcast, it’s easy to track #s. It tells you how many people you have listening, so it’s only countless if you don’t know how to read numbers

D: Okay, thousands. Is that what you want to hear? I have thousands of listeners, and lots of readers

G: Lots?

D: Yes, lots. I’m popular. Very popular. You’re popular too, I’m sure, though I bet not AS popular as me

G: Okay, we’re popular. Maybe you’re more popular, let’s leave it at that, shall we? Let’s talk ideas

D: (relieved) Yes, thankyou. Gawd…

G: Okay, so in your model, the—lemme get this right, Recovery Empathy Couples Therapy Unified Mission– just thinking of what that spells, actually—you bring together couples who have been impacted by infidelity issues, sometimes other addiction issues (we’ll come back to what that means, maybe) to do interventions relating the traumatizing effects of cheating behavior, which includes use of online pornography, utilizing feedback from a treatment team of collaborating professionals. So, I’m curious in particular what that last part means, the “utilizing feedback” from a treatment team

D: Right, so as you probably know, old school therapy models, addiction models, recommend that the sexually misbehaving person, or perpetrator as we call him, does his personal therapy work privately while the woman does hers separately without any coordination that would make her feel safe. The thing is, as the partner, you have every right to know what he is doing and what his treatment plan consists of, and you get to weigh in as to what you believe will strengthen the relationship.

G: Well, there are a number of phrases there that bear exploration, but firstly, again, regarding “utilizing feedback” and say, the “right to know what he’s doing”: do you mean that impacted partners have a right to know, and therefore should know via feedback of a treating therapist, when a cheating behavior has occurred? Are you asking individual therapists to inform other therapists in a treatment team, and thereafter, their impacted partner clients, when a behavioral slip or relapse has occurred?

D: We can do it that way. I know of countless occasions when that has proven therapeutic both for the perpetrator of infidelity and the impacted partner. We know from our clinical experience that disclosing behavioral slips makes an impacted partner feel safer, plus it’s relieving for the other person to have that experience

G: Clinical experience. Not exactly proof, as you put it, but let’s say we agree that it can be therapeutic for an acting out person to reveal their secret behavior to a partner. But you’re suggesting, I think, that the disclosure would occur via an informant therapist, not the perpetrator, as you put it.

D. It doesn’t have to work like that. It would be best, I guess you’d say, if the perpetrator did the disclosing.

G: Under duress? Meaning, it would be “tell your partner or else we will”

D: See, I think you’re trying to make this something it’s not

G: I’m more than trying, I think I’ll succeed in making it sound like what it is. You’re saying that if a client in your program reveals to their individual therapist that they have slipped in their behavior—let’s say, looked at porn—then that individual therapist would communicate that information either directly to the impacted partner, or to that partner’s individual therapist, who would in turn relay that info to the impacted partner, yes?

D: Under the terms of an honesty agreement that we have our clients sign, then yes, that’s how that might play out. I don’t see a problem with that

G: The terms of an agreement? Is there an understood window of opportunity in which the acting out person must disclose to a partner?

D: We like 48 hours. We think that’s enough

G: Between disclosure to a therapist and thereafter to a partner, or between the onset of the behavior and disclosure to a partner?

D: Okay, well I guess the former in practical terms since the disclosure to us is when we’d remind the client of the honesty agreement

G: (upon pause) Do you find that they need reminding? Presumably, they are aware of this agreement all along, or certainly upon agreeing to it. You’d think it would influence whether they choose to share with a therapist an instance of cheating behavior, as your program defines that. Don’t you think that sets up a dynamic that contaminates the authenticity of disclosure? Why would your clients share their secrets with you if you’re going to either inform, in effect, their partners, or else guilt them into doing that?

D: I think you’re getting into the weeds here. Our method has helped untold number of couples heal after years, even decades of deceit and disloyalty

G: Which you seem to think you can dissolve with an honesty agreement and a “come to Jesus” moment in your office. I think you’d consider this matter “the weeds” because your training around confidentiality issues has been remedial

D: Remedial? Lemme tell you something, our program has gotten more positive feedback from all corners of this industry than your outdated psychoanalytic whatever…ever will

G: Again, I’m sure you’re a big hit on tik-tok

D: See, now you’re being a snob. Our program employs the golden seal of approval from leaders in the field of sex addiction: renowned experts in a condition that afflicts millions of men across the world

G: They’re experts in a condition not recognized by the AMA or APA, by the way.

D: It is recognized, meaning sexual compulsivity is recognized, by the WHO

G: Yeah, only as recently as 2017, and with a caveat within its criterion language that warns against diagnosis for moralistic reasons. You don’t merit diagnosis of sexual compulsivity disorder just because you “violated your own values”, like masturbating when you think it’s a religious sin, or because objectifying women via porn violates a feminist affectation. Also, why are men the only focus of your program? The pronouns you use imply that the perpetrators of this sexual abuse, as you think of it, are dominantly if not exclusively male

D: Not exclusively, but most are male. I think it’s harder for women, they have to face the stigma relating to their sexuality, so for them sex addiction or infidelity treatment is really shaming

G: which would be moot if the “right to know” or the “trauma” of their impacted partners were being privileged, as it is in your model. So, why wouldn’t male impacted partners be calling you in #s asking for you put their wives and girlfriends under privacy-violating cross-examination, to “hold their feet to the fire” with honesty agreements, full disclosures, polygraphs?

D: Like I said, I think it’s more complicated

G: Meaning you don’t know why you don’t attract male impacted partners

D: I think maybe they don’t want to appear weak so they don’t…who knows?

G: Sure, who knows? Women don’t want to be shamed for their sexual desires. Men don’t want to appear as victims, would rather act out and feel guilty—actually, that is something I think is true—but maybe these are side issues, “weeds” that are unworthy of attention, as far as you are concerned. Back to the main point: you think the impacted partner, likely female, has a “right to know” what the perpetrator is doing in his behavior. They have a right to know whether that perpetrator’s individual therapy is facilitating expression of appropriate guilt and awareness of the full impact of the perpetrator’s behavior upon their partner’s emotional, physical, and spiritual health

D: Absolutely!

G: And those perpetrators will gladly disclosure those slips and relapses, past and recent past, moved by your coaching about how their partners deserve to know the truth! They will be galvanized by learning the extent of their impact upon their loved ones—they will learn how they have induced hyper-arousal, high anxiety, self-blaming, in an innocent partner—and in developing this awareness, they will not only significantly reduce if not entirely halt their harmful sexual activity, they will take empathy to another level, privileging a definition of empathy as meaning the validation of an impacted partner’s feelings and perceptions, whether they are distorted or not: the “perpetrator” will eliminate argument from their repertoire of conversation; validation of their partner’s feelings and perceptions will become a near reflex. They will surrender their will to the power of God as they understand it. They will extinguish negative feelings that are denied but acted upon, and love…will prevail

D: I know you’re being sarcastic, but yes…all of that

G: Well, I doubt you understand all of that. And given your stance, plus—I will concede, that of many professional counselors, licensed and not—an astute consumer of psychotherapy might wonder why a mental health professional versus a clergyman is even necessary when it comes to infidelity treatment. A priest, or anyone for that matter, can say that an intimate partner has “a right to know” truths. Anyone can point out the common sense that secretive behaviors violate consciously made agreements about sexual exclusivity. What difference does it make that an “expert” can recite the criterion of PTSD syndrome. You want details? Vivid anecdotes to relate to? Go to CODA meetings. They existed long before you came up with what you think is your original “empathy” model.

D: Hold on. What is it you think I don’t understand?

G: Firstly, I don’t think you understand what I meant by “feelings that are denied but acted upon” because your model ignores unconscious process. I think you think that individuals can be coached to access their loving feelings, put aside what is implicit in acting out—angry feelings, underlying rage—and skip to guilt as a therapeutic tool that will heal. You think that perpetrators are NOT aware of the impacts of their behavior, hence needing education. They ARE aware to the extent that they attempted, at least, to keep their behaviors secret. To complicate matters, they are paradoxically in denial of impacts so as to protect themselves from feelings of guilt, which in turn stem from uncomfortable hostile feelings towards loved ones. It is therefore the INHIBITION of these thoughts, the failure to access AMBIVALENCE, that is THE PROBLEM. Your model, plus—I guess I’ll say, “countless” like it—emphasizes reactive love response designed to vanquish ambivalence. You think your clients or coachees can’t tolerate ambivalence, likely because you can’t tolerate ambivalence, so you preach “get over yourself” rhetoric

D: That’s not true. We talk about ambivalence. We understand ambivalence. We educate that ambivalence is normal

G: Yeah, educate, right. So, in this model of “She has a right to know” regarding slips, plus “what’s happening in the treatment”, that latter ambiguity implies that disclosure beyond the matter of perpetrating behaviors are subject to being relayed to the partner. Regarding empathy, if your client discloses a slip in empathy—let’s say, “I hated her guts yesterday”—that should be shared with the partner, or is there an agreed upon or tacit agreement that such thoughts would not be shared, and what would be the reason for not sharing? The client’s right to private thought? A fear that such thoughts would be traumatizing for the impacted partner, triggering a reactive outrage?

D: Probably more the latter. I see what you’re saying, there’s room for counselor discretion. I wouldn’t share that thought you mentioned. I think that would be re-traumatizing for the impacted partner, and plus I’d think that a defensive thought on the part of the guy

G: Probably true, though your thought about the impacted partner suggests an illustration of my earlier point: you think the impacted partner would not be able to tolerate the hostile feelings of her partner

D: She’d think he shouldn’t have those feelings, sure…

G: And you’d agree with her…

D: (Pause) yeah, I think so. Because I’d think he was being defensive. You said “probably” so maybe you disagree

G: I said probably because I wouldn’t foreclose the possibility that his anger may be legitimate, and that what’s defensive is the addictive acting out as a displacement, plus the inhibition of what may be a rightful protest

D: What rightful protest, hating his wife’s guts? How is that in any way healing?

G: Why do we have to rush to healing? Since neither of us is a doctor, can’t we look to understand the thought, which may only be an impulse, before we seek to eradicate it? So, forget informing the wife for the moment. If we did that, we’d likely get into managing or soothing her feelings, which I think interferes with the process of understanding, taking focus away from his internal problem. Besides, why not consider that the expression, “I hate her guts” is a reaction to a series of repressed thoughts, the content of which is obscured by what’s disturbing in the intense expression

D: Okay, I can see that, sort of…and I can see why we don’t have to share with an impacted partner, or encourage sharing with an impacted partner, every time this guy has an undesirable thought…

G: Right, so…

D: At the same time, I’d be concerned that by inviting more details about this rightful protest that is speculative, we’d be indulging a defensive pattern, which would take us in the wrong direction

G: That presumes a bi-linear process, plus the bias that all negative thoughts are a “slippery slope” that must be avoided. But lemme give an example: a man and his wife are in household garden together, having what at first seems like a benign disagreement about an arrangement of flowers. At first, the problem is that he had gone ahead with the flower arrangement without consulting with her. As they talk about it, the conflict escalates. He says, “what’s the problem?”. She says, “it looks fucking stupid!” and further starts cussing him out, after which he complains that she’s always abusing him or talking down to him. That scene ends with her storming off, shouting “I want a divorce” over her shoulder. Backstory is layered, the presenting problem at least 2-fold: 3 years ago, he was caught cheating on her, getting caught on film with another woman at a party—pictures and video posted online—then they went into couples counseling. He stopped the affair, acknowledged the pain he caused and listened to a lot of podcasts on that subject, has passed 3 polygraphs since, and generally lives in the proverbial doghouse. After a year of little more than mea culpas he says he started bringing up in couples therapy how she mistreats him…as in the flower arrangement instance. She admits she can cross a line and be harsh sometimes but says it’s because she’s still angry and traumatized about the betrayal of their marriage through his infidelities

D: (pause) So, what’s the issue? Doesn’t that make sense? She’s been traumatized by his betrayal, now she’s sensitive to his not talking about things with her, so she gets upset because, as you might think as an analyst, the flower thing is a substitute for the affair-seeking plus keeping it secret and ignoring her. The task is for him to acknowledge the links there, show that he understands why she’s upset, and apologize for the fact that he doesn’t share his thoughts with her while he goes about doing whatever he wants to do…

G: I agree with what you’re saying to an extent: I’ve no problem with acknowledgements, the apologies, especially for not sharing his thoughts, and I appreciate your “it actually isn’t what it is” attitude towards the seeming source of conflict, the flower arrangement. However, your position still presumes a unilateral disorder, likely grounded in, as you might put it, “old school” addiction narratives: that person has THE problem, etc. Anyway, the thing is this: he says the abusive language got worse after discovery of his affair-seeking, but the condescending attitude, her talking down to him, is long-standing, is almost as old as the relationship itself so it predates the betrayal, and to compound the problem with irony, when he brings this up either with her or with therapists—and they had at least one episode prior his acting out pattern, he claims—both his wife and therapists dismissed the subject

D: Well, I’m not sure I buy that, especially if they were in therapy before the sex addiction or just cheating behavior started. As for now, I generally think it’s a problem to muddy the waters of treatment, focusing on matters that could be just a way to excuse the acting out behavior

G: But that in itself strikes me as a splitting response—that is, a black and white way of looking at the problem. You deny the possible or maybe likely complexity of the problem because it takes focus away from a singularly defined task, and also because that background complexity appears to justify acts of escapism. No one is saying that. That’s rather what you are inferring from the speculation of an old relational dynamic for which both parties bear responsibility, even if those responsibilities are rendered asymmetrical by the betrayal of infidelity. In my “clinical experience”, a variety of problems get shelved and obscured by the specter of sexual betrayal: betrayals relating to substance use, money, parenting choices, to name some issues. Only the specter of violence supersedes sexual betrayal as a source of clinical attention. Indeed, this may be the principal reason why cheating or sexual betrayals perpetrated by women are marginalized in most models pertaining to these problems. What’s the priority? The safety of a partner discovered in her cheating behavior by an angry, or otherwise abusive male. I have no evidence of this bias per se, but maybe you can tell me: if you had a female client who had cheated on her male partner, would you insist on that honesty agreement and pressured disclosure if she said she was afraid of his temper?

D: (wearily pausing) I don’t know. Maybe you’re right in one sense about this being complicated, and maybe that’s because there isn’t a moral equivalence about these kinds of situations.

G: Wait, what do you mean by that, moral equivalence?

D: Well, basically that women have more cause to be afraid of men’s anger than the reverse

G: So, what are you saying? Does that set up a double standard with respect to honesty agreements? Do you employ “man up and get honest” interventions with male acting out partners, but then refrain from coercive rhetoric with the fewer female subjects you treat?

D: I don’t think of it as a double standard. Again, I think this is a moral equivalence issue

G: How about we call it rationalized asymmetry. There. I’ve coined a new piece of therapeutic jargon

D: Yeah, I don’t know. Like I said, I just think we’re getting into the weeds here on some of these issues. People come to me, they come to you, wanting help, practical help mostly, with what to do when they’ve done something, maybe a lot of something, that they feel bad about and they want to make a repair, express their love despite whatever other feelings they have, move on and be happy. That’s what it all about, I think, and all I can say is that I think my empathy model has helped a lot of people to find spiritual wellness, forgiveness, peace, and overall happiness. Exactly how many people, I don’t know…just…

G: Countless people. Yes, I know. Well, thank you for coming on the show, Mr. or Doctor Sakmanov

D: How about coach Dave?

G: Sure, anyway this has been an episode of Getting Real About…well, I’d say psychoanalysis, or formerly sex addiction—not sure what to call this at the moment. It isn’t quite what it is, maybe. Thanks for listening

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Tools

I read your email earlier today and it’s been on my mind most of the afternoon–in between sessions, at least. I took some notes, wanted to retain elements as I wrote back: there was an incoming text. You immediately confessed. I was struck by what was tacit: the other woman, you’ve been caught, etc. Then the quick fallout. You leave the house. A custodial split is arranged. NO talking–par for the course, it seems. The next bit tells me where you’re at in my podcast series: you’ve thought about the Madonna/Whore split. Your wife’s the Madonna, the total saint. But you’re sexually incompatible, meaning you’re not asexual. 

Who knows what your rep is with her. Hypersexual? The dichotomizing would fit with how far apart you seem from each other. So, the psychological splitting became tangible. She wanted a divorce. You wanted to reconcile, but perhaps you didn’t know how to start the conversation. Actually, I find that most (usually men) in your situation know how to start the conversation: apologies, promises, reassurances, etc. It’s what comes next that’s the problem. It’s good that you don’t blame your wife for your acting out with a consensual partner. What’s not good is that you and your wife never resolved your differences about love and sex. For that you’re both to blame. 

That doesn’t mean the fuller conversation’s easy. It’s hard for a myriad of reasons, some of which implicate parenting rationales. Example: “Let’s not fight in front of the kids. It’ll be traumatic for them”. Great. I guess that means they’ll learn how to resolve conflict via peers, the internet, or some other magical influence. Actually, it means they’ll learn to say “I’m done with…” when they have interpersonal problems of their own, accept forgiveness when they don’t agree they’ve done anything to merit forgiveness, or offer forgiveness under similarly false pretenses; outsource their needs for love and sex, possibly abuse drugs, largely because dealing with difficult people is…well, too hard, it seems.

The sociocultural context you indicate does matter, as many of my podcast commentaries argue. I imagine you may have felt inhibited from raising the issue of sexual incompatibility, afraid you’d be rebuked for having excessive or perverse sexual needs; for objectifying women, or oppressing them with sexual entitlement; for “having only one thing on your mind”. There’s little to suggest that men in our progressively-minded society will feel in any way affirmed for feeling unwanted by their female partners. The concept of Narcissism, weaponized as it is in pop psychology circles (it’s amazing how many therapists actually know very little about theories of Narcissism), is employed to critique masculine ego and tame men’s desire. 

You ask a compelling question about how betrayed partners might reconcile. Where is the gray, you ask, in between profuse mea culpas and frozen impasses? These are the toughest of your questions. I don’t have a simple answer. I’ve worked with some betrayed (female) partners who come to recognize that the Narcissism in their marriages was shared–meaning, they’ve fell in love with and admired the strength in their male partners, their “winning” qualities. This is an important sociocultural point because pop psychologists who lament that men “don’t get in touch with their feelings (they mean vulnerability)” tend to overlook how traditional and even feminist women collude with that phenomenon via their attractions to stoical, ambitious, not observably vulnerable men. Reconciliation? Consciousness is where it starts, I’d say. After the apologies and assurances have been made, and each party has taken its share of “time-outs”, or employed other “tools” of how to manage feelings, then the task is to STOP managing feelings and instead really get into those thoughts and feelings like you’ve never done before. Question is, how bad is everyone willing to feel to get to the truth?

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Adam is in charge

Infidelity treatment relies upon assumptions of asymmetry: you have perpetrator/victim, or wrongdoer/victim, or “survivor”—or the more right and the more wrong. This is why couples therapy, with its hoary repertoire of agreements, homework assignments, “boundaries”, is rife with tacit messages that obviate egalitarianism. The perpetrator owes the victim, not the reverse, so agreements are not symmetrical. Communication? That means inform the victim of what you’re doing and when. The victim or betrayed or impacted partner (whatever?) doesn’t have to inform the acting out partner (perpetrator of infidelity) of their whereabouts or activities.

This arrangement is based on a premise that often collapses in long-term or analytic psychotherapy, which is often why couples might prefer short-term therapy programs. To put is simply, its narratives are simpler.

Sexual betrayal is the most important traumatic betrayal in an adult intimate relationship, second only to violence. Betrayals relating to money or other material matters (i.e: hoarding behaviors) do not cross as high a threshold of moral abhorrence. Likewise, disputes about how or under what circumstances parents discipline children, or political divisions, simply do not register as high on the scale of marital or couples crises. Monogamy is our ego-syntonic signifier of specialness, a vestige of healthy narcissism that a crossection of traditional and progressive society clings to. It’s the bar we’re not meant to cross, the rule we’re not meant to break, and the lies that conceal this violation only compound the problem. Therefore, the perpetrator has no refuge in protesting the rule he implicitly agreed to upon signing up for the game. The eternal bind: if I said I wanted to____, you’d just say no…

The person who utters this line can usually locate its pedigree. They can recall the antecedent messages from childhood, in aggregate if not from specific instances. They learned early to “compartmentalize”: to postpone pleasure but also truth, and therefore plan the escape routes, the opportunities for play, keeping their artifices and desires secret so as not to intrude upon another desire: to not do harm; to stay in relationship with authority, or civil society. See, truth does harm. Desire is harmful, so we—the Superego—forbids. That’s religion, which feels autocratic and thus objectionable to some. It is necessary and benevolent, say its advocates. Regardless, all agree that the containment of desires call for compromises, agreements with varying degrees of importance attached. Some will call these agreements covenants.

Sexual exclusivity, fidelity in body if not mind, is a compromise traditionally agree upon. Secrecy, as in the segregation from awareness, is another idea of compromise, promulgated with less ceremony perhaps, but with more or less equal force. We’d extend this ethic to all matters between people, but on the matter of sex we are more sensitive. So, the sexual wrongdoer is a deviant, a transgressor, and under the protective canopy of sex addiction or infidelity treatment, they are neither rebels nor underdogs. Indeed, they are privileged abusers. And this is why treatment models aim primarily at men. As social underdogs whose sexuality has already been stigmatized by traditional society, women fit progressive society’s paradigm of whom we advocate for, so we’d need to alter the narrative and vocabulary when they present with the more euphemistically termed problem sexual behavior. Consult CHATgbt on trending jargon: “perpetrator” would not make the cut. Exit narcissism also. Enter PTSD or maybe internalized misogyny. Invoke tales of contracting STDs via similarly promiscuous men, unwanted pregnancies for which abortion options are unavailable; suffered violence at the hands of cuckolded men. Recall that in our moral schema, only violence trumps sexual betrayal in the scale of wrongdoing, so break out the apologist arguments, tilt that narrative into sympathy. Or, push it one step further with circular reasoning, unfalsifiable statements: Adam is in charge. 

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Lent

Lent. I’m meant to be in self-denial, abstaining from my habits in observance of grief. I’ll have to call her back, tell her I’m not coming. I don’t want to, though my reasons are no longer about sex. I already made the date, and I’m minutes away now. Damned regret. Always happens in the minutes following the decision, when there’s time enough to think. It shouldn’t be like that. Instead, it should be like magic, like a burst across a threshold into a bathed red-lid room. You’re in, and there’s nothing left to think about until it’s over, after which the thinking is all downhill. I’m going to hell. Anyway, this isn’t like that yet. This is still ripe with anticipation and surging dread. The picture’s still in my head of my would-be date laying enticingly on a bed against the base of a camera phone, peering into it, upside down, assuming a position below the viewer’s gaze, summoning from her void with her gravitational pull. The picture from the site reveals where she lives, where she stays for hours upon hours, waiting for a hungry text, an appeal. Is she available? Of course she is. Give her a minute, she says. Give her ten. Then come right over. That’s how long it takes her to splash on some make-up, deodorize a crevice or two, and then appear within a shadowy entrance behind a frayed screen door. Does she have a cancellation policy? Does her business model attend to regret, besides squeezing the time between contact and consummation, ever narrowing the gap, making it an exact science. Get ‘em in, get ‘em out, before they change their minds. That will have been the training. The real pros, the elders of the schema will have taught how to deal with buyer’s indecision and remorse.

              So, it’s an obligation now, not just a pleasure activity. Actually, it’s not much of a pleasure, now that I think of it. When and if I think of it. I feel nothing as I approach rendezvous: no excitement, not even fear. Just a dull buzz creeping in my ears as I pull into a space and reconnaissance the scene from a nearby parking lot. White noise in my head, I look out: just a strip-mall with a liquor store, a smoke and donut shop, plus a condo spread, practically attached: a blur of commerce and cheap living where the ring cameras outnumber the people and the whiff of cheap weed permeates the neighborhood. The abodes are across an iron fence divide, on a second floor overlooking an unkempt garden quad. Dry vegetation covers a dirt patch that no one has serviced while an adolescent palm tree sprouts hopefully through its center. Debris is pooled in a cemented corner, slipping down the cracks of broken stone that protrudes because an eruption of some kind once occurred and then just…stopped. A woman passes my car, shoots a glance at me, then again as she moves past a tattoo parlor, heading towards the housing units. There’s a hint of a smile on a taut face, possibly a come on, or a knowing smirk. Is she my date? I wonder as she enters a gate to the complex. Or is it a disapproving neighbor? She turns disinterestedly and makes no further eye contact, which puts paid to the first idea. If she was waiting for someone, she’d have looked a third time, I figure. Instead, I look up to see whether a curtain will stir from a window, revealing a pair of eyes spying on the lot, waiting on a visitor. I want recognition, then a sign, a further invitation, like a crooked finger gesture, plus a shifty look elsewhere to indicate risk and thrill. 

              Two gallant duties come to mind: firstly, to complete this act, perform due diligence. It’s only fair, after all. This is how one faction of the other half lives, how it makes its living, and who am I to tease with opportunity only to then back out due to moral neurosis. But the other voice is strong also, knowing that thought number one is merely guilt displaced from its proper source. It’s saying it’s that time of year, to sacrifice pleasure and observe pain, and then feel its grim satisfaction. There’s justice to be served here of an ancient kind, plus an old penance to be paid. The church is only blocks away. Still time to turn on the ignition, back out of this space, and have no one mortal be any wiser except yourself. That curtain will stir and those waiting eyes will watch you back away, and tsk in stolid disgust, but you have blessed comfort and sanguine wishes awaiting. The incensed ambience, seminarian dignity, and fraternal order is welcoming, and promissory of sanctum. The glances there will be modest and kind, not cynical, opportunistic, and there will be no crud gathered in the corners of a doorway, and no acrid taste in my mouth. So, I’ve made a decision. The desire for this other thing is gone now, for now. I feel its leaving, like it might as well have absented itself days ago. There are weeks left in Lent, and maybe I’ll face this battle again before the season’s over and the feast begins anew. I get out my phone and text, “sorry, can’t make it”, with no explanation, knowing it wouldn’t matter. Minutes later I’m at the church, feeling like I deserve to be there, and there’s no pause between my turning off the car’s engine and opening the door. As I exit, I feel the buzz of my phone and glance down to see the terse reply of my disappointed date. “You’re an idiot”, she writes.

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My Peers

I’m trippin’ on the word, hearing its layered meaning, the play. I’m trippin’ on them, my peers with their protruding toes, hearing their footsteps outside my stall, their muted grumblings about the meeting. The break is nearly over. The clatter of paper and soap dispensers, the water from a fawcett, the violence of a flush, are all sounding out, signaling an end to the break. My peers are filing out, ready to reconvene the meeting. I can’t move. I can’t make anything happen. I’m stuck in my porcelain seat, waiting to evacuate, but then find something within that will gird me for the next round of work. All work. No play.

              I hear one or two peers circling about. I feel their eyes upon my stall door. Do they know it’s me in here, collecting my thoughts? He can’t do it—that’s what they’re thinking. He’s stuck. They glance at one another, sharing their suspicions, but they’re not supposed to say. In here, you’re not supposed to say anything. It’s private time, pre-verbal time, in a private space, and no one is at their best in such moments, we’re all inclined to think. That’s our big boy voice, saying pull up your big boy pants. Just do what’s necessary, wash your hands, then leave and start talking, doing your thing. Back to work. He’s gotta come out, thinks the peer who seems to linger at the basin, washing his hands. He’s the last one there. Otherwise, the place is silent. Everyone’s break is over, except mine. I feel his eyes upon the outside door, his voice poised to speak, say what everyone else was thinking a minute or two ago: two minutes, Ray. It’s nearly ten. You comin’?

It wasn’t like this back in the day. Back when we were kids. These guys: they won’t remember. They don’t know anything from before the age of nine, when games were fun. Yeah, they liked to win. I liked to win, but winning wasn’t everything. Fun was the thing. Funny—funnee—was the thing. Silly was a thing, ridiculous was a thing. We could be ridiculous, look ridiculous, before we were nine. Was it nine? Maybe ten. I can’t remember myself. I remember laughing, and wanting to be the one that made the others laugh. It made ‘em laugh, shaking my thing outside the stalls, flanking the showers. “Keep the noise down”. That was the only complaint: a gruff, peace-seeking rebuke from beyond an eyewitness (but not earshot) threshold by a locker room attendant—a truly miserable man who wasn’t winning at anything and didn’t like to play games or even hear evidence of them. A buddy of mine and I: we did a dance opposite each other, taking turns, like the display was a preening competition. We were showing off, but feeling silly, ridiculous. Nothing serious. Then it changed. After the noise complaint, the game broke up, but only for a moment, like it was the receding of a stream that would return via another channel in moments. Let’s do something else, someone said. They gestured to a pair of urinals, then stood in front of them like they were targets. His beckoned a peer to his side, held his hand to his mouth like he was telling a secret, excluding anyone who wasn’t up for a duel.

Maybe he was telling a joke, a play on words. That’s what comes to mind now, still seated in my stall, not playing the game, not returning to the meeting that will happen without me, even though I am in charge, sort of. I don’t want to play their game, take part in their name-dropping but not naming game—their nounless attack upon substance, and my word-drooling response: it’s a leaking, or a falling out of words, this civilly symbolization; a mouth bowel movement, disguised. They know it. I feel it, the primitivism, and the inhibition of later games. I didn’t play that game that replaced mine when I was nine, or nearly ten. I didn’t want to play the peeing game, seeing who could pee the farthest and still hit targets. I don’t want that kind of comparison; to win or to lose, those cul de sac dichotomies. Don’t want to step on toes or have anyone step on mine. I don’t want to stick my neck out. I don’t want to leave my stall anymore, deal with my peers. Yeah, that’s right: my peers, my fellow pee-ers.

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