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The Trauma Currency, Part Two

(Continued from part one)

Cermak’s intent was to present codependency as a legitimate focus of clinical attention, applicable to a variety of contexts. And so we have the Co-Addict Model, which draws attention to problematic behavior as a function of an underlying, pervasive disorder. While RT adherents may agree with aspects the co-addict corollary, their clinical focus downplays the pathologizing accent. Coping strategies, such as keeping busy with tasks, are instead normalized, cast as affect regulating under exceptional circumstances. Certain behaviors such as indiscriminate sharing of a sex addict’s behavior with friends or family, including children, are discouraged; however, these behaviors are framed as products of social isolation and episodic trauma brought on by an addict’s behavior, not an underlying or even associated pathology. The notable literature that represents this position includes Your Sexually Addicted Spouse (Steffens, Means, 2009), and Facing Heartbreak: Steps to Recovery for Partners of Sex Addicts (Carnes, et al., 2012): the latter, in keeping with recovery tradition, outlines a healing process in stages: a pre-discovery stage, followed by phases of crisis/decision, and repair. In the crisis/decision stage the partner asks, “how did I get here?”, and comes to realizations like, “nothing in this marriage has been real”. Note the emphasis upon present or recent past events, not family of origin, early developmental or even adult developmental material.

The framework of RT appears to contraindicate a neutral therapeutic stance, becoming partner-centric, especially upon discovery of sexual betrayals, because the proposed de-pathologizing shift only applies to partners. There’s nothing in the RT paradigm that contests the assessment of sexual addiction. Indeed, the scope of questions for the revised version of the Sex Addiction Screening Test (or SAST) has widened in recent years, to address not only changes in technology—the broader means of acting out available to sex addicts—but also the impact upon partners of sexual betrayals. Notice, for example, a question on the 1989 version of SAST, “Does your spouse ever worry or complain about your sexual behavior?” (Carnes, 1989), versus a question on the revised 2008 version: “Has your sexual behavior ever created problems for you and your family?” Notice the slant has shifted to query problems identified by the would-be addict, instead of that which is externally identified by a partner whose perspective might be denied by the would-be sex addict, or distorted by a co-addict disorder.

The RT model calls for sex addicts or acting out partners to be identified as perpetrators of trauma, and this term—“perpetrator”—seems close enough to the connotations of “offender” that observers may be surprised that APSATS hasn’t called for the inclusion of more sex addicts on public sex offender registries. In the RT model, partners are validated as victims of a relationship-specific betrayal, and thereafter supported to integrate this experience in a way facilitates a healthy re-emergence in life, comprised of self-care, fellowship with a strong support system, realistic observation of sex addict behavior, but also renewed trust in humankind. The approach suggests that observation of predisposing pathology and validation of traumatic experience are mutually exclusive goals, which may lead to facile, short-term interventions, tailor made for practitioners presenting brief, intensive programs of care. While this may be an appropriate shift in the paradigm with respect to many partners or with all partners of sex addicts in the immediate aftermath of discovery, I wonder about the pathology that will be overlooked in the service of trauma validation, especially amid follow-up treatment episodes wherein identified-patient premises collapse over time.

In cases of sexual betrayal, a therapist working with acting out and non-acting out partners functions as a container for memories and emotions that cry out for expression, or disavowal in the case of those struggling to cope with the past. This Winnicottian task dovetails with reparation efforts—a Kleinian concept before a sex addiction treatment strategy—which hinges upon individuals’ capacity for mourning. Klein (1975) wrote that grievances we harbor towards parents for the wrongs they have committed, and for having denied those wrongs, elicit feelings of hate and desire for revenge. Durham (2000) has argued that the capacity for making reparations in the internal world is the basis on which empathy for others is established. When individuals defensively split, they attach to a narrowly defined narrative: therefore (borrowing the RT Model identifiers) a victim’s anger and hatred is rigidified in the face of a perpetrator’s denial, which represents an evil system built upon a primitive intrapsychic structure. A working through of splitting, into mourning, requires the perpetrator to own his destructiveness so as to experience mourning; then, if the victim is sufficiently open to an awareness of “good enough” qualities in the perpetrator, a re-internalization of that individual as a good object might occur, which in turn enables the victim’s own work of mourning.

Whether or not labels of victim, perpetrator, addict, or codependent are necessary, harmful, or inhibitive of this process seems ambiguous. Assessment and diagnostic nomenclature informs psychiatric intervention; enables the placement of individuals in appropriate levels of care, including hospitals when necessary; generates short and long-term treatment planning goals. Informing patients of their diagnoses gives informed consent to treatment based upon an understanding of conditions that are the focus of clinical attention. At the same time therapists know the stigmatizing risk associated with assessment and diagnostic labels, particularly those whose prescriptive measures are not clearly defined, or subject to a range of treatment alternatives, despite the attempts of some who promote protocols in response to diagnoses. The advisability of informing a patient or client that he or she has a substance dependence, for example, seems predicated on particular factors well understood across professional disciplines, and by the general public: that the problem can be accurately assessed in a short time frame; that prescriptive measures can be readily understood by those potentially receiving services (such as recommendations of abstinence, or attendance at 12-step meetings); that a person may be at grave risk of illness, injury, or even death if immediate intervention does not occur.

Are these factors true with respect to sex addiction, or codependency, or personality disorders? Maybe in some cases, but of the forty five questions on the revised SAST, for example, only one pertains to behaviors that place afflicted individuals in dangerous situations. In my training I learned to refrain from using diagnostic or assessment labels when addressing clients about their problems, unless the applicable term or terms seem critical for intervention, or unless prescriptive measures based upon the nomenclature can be articulated succinctly and concretely. Otherwise, confusion and/or resistance typically follows, with clients left thinly understanding conditions, floundering to make sense of new identities imposed by expert opinion. I often experience this when clients meet with me for the first time, having been diagnosed by a previous practitioner with, say, Narcissist Personality Disorder. They’ve been given an article to read, or a DSM criteria sheet to examine. Afterwards, they exhibit disorientation, manifest with awkward attempts to describe their freshly assigned disorder. When devising a plan, they offer that they need to learn to empathize with others more. Woodenly, they report feeling instructed, and branded, but not understood.

This is often true with individuals who are told they have a sex addiction, or a codependency problem, and while many can wrap their minds around the concept of sex addiction, the assessment still bears much explanation and holding of emotion. As for codependency: from an object relations point of view, that umbrella term represents a whole multitude of dynamic relational configurations, replete with intersecting projections and introjections. So no wonder partners of sex addicts are flummoxed and invalidated by the term, regardless of what betrayals they have felt. Aren’t many or even most shocked to hear that they may have enabled another’s addiction? Won’t many be confused to hear they may have contributed to another’s disorder by an overly close, or conversely, a distant involvement? Doesn’t it jolt the senses, the unconscious, one’s entire being, to hear that one might have a sex addiction, and that an important aspect of that concept is its impact upon intimate partners? Ultimately, what seems important is to hold the idea of a complex problem, brought to light by acting out behaviors, but not reducible to those habits, necessarily. Might it not render the divide between rival models of treatment moot to consider that our clients deserve to not be hamstrung by labels, or denied what is useful in our nomenclature? Rather, they should feel held by our open minds and fuller understanding.

 

 REFERENCES

 American Psychiatric Association (2013). Diagnostic and statistical manual of mental disorders (5th ed.). Arlington, VA. American Psychiatric Publishing.

 Bergner, R. & Bridges, A. (2002). The significance of heavy pornography involvement for romantic partners: research and clinical implications. Journal of Sex & Marital Therapy, 28, 193-206.

Black, Claudia (2009). Deceived. Hazelden. Center City, Minnesota.

Carnes, P. (1989) Contrary to Love. Hazelden.

Carnes, S., Lee, M. A., Rodriguez, A. D. (2012) Facing Heartbreak: Steps to Recovery for Partners of Sex Addicts. Gentle Path Press.

Cermak, T. (1986). Diagnosing and treating codependence. Minneapolis, MN: Johnson institute

David J Ley (2012, September) “Abusing the Term Trauma”. Retrieved from https://www.psychologytoday.com/abusing-the-term-trauma/

Durham, M.S. (2000) The Therapist’s Encounters with Revenge and Forgiveness. In “Psychological Repair: the intersubjective dialogue of remorse and forgiveness in the aftermath of gross human rights violations”. Journal of the American Psychoanalytic Association. Volume 63. Number 6. December 2015

Glass, S. (2003) Not just friends: Protect you relationship from infidelity and heal the trauma of betrayal. New York, NY. The Free Press.

Klein, M. (1975) Love, Guilt and Reparation and Other Works, 1921-1945. London: The Free Press, 2002.

Steffens, B. A., & Rennie, R. L. (2006) The traumatic nature of disclosure for the wives of sexual addicts. Sexual Addiction & Compulsivity, 13, 247-267.

Steffens, B. A., & Means, M. (2009) Your Sexually Addicted Spouse: How Partners Can Cope and Heal. New Horizon Press.

 

 

 

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The Trauma Currency, Part One

 

“You didn’t get here overnight,” writes Claudia Black in her 2009 book, Deceived. It’s a solemn lesson, aimed at co-addicts, partners of sex and porn addicts—women, mostly—who are raised in households impacted by addictions of various kinds. Their childhood histories are “training grounds” for adult dysfunctional relationships, wherein such individuals engage in so-called co-addict behaviors: tolerating hurtful behavior, avoiding conflict, taking care of others, accommodating. Black describes a woman named Katy, a “perfect candidate for partnering with an addict”, who becomes compulsive in busy behaviors, attending to her children, her job, avoiding seeing and feeling, the anticipated rejection and abandonment by her sex-addicted husband (Black, 2009, P.85-86).

Profiles like the one above seem conducive to interventions that draw attention to patterns of dysfunctional behavior; patterns that implicitly predate the discovery of addictive behaviors by sexually addicted partners—this is according to adherents of the co-addict model, which is based upon the Al-anon 12-step recovery program. Treatment based upon this model prescribes self-examination for partners of sex addicts: examination of and responsibility-taking for repetitively destructive or self-defeating behaviors; examination of trauma repetitions, reenactments of familial scripts with the unconscious hope of creating new drafts in later life. The idea recalls certain 12-step slogans, such as the supposedly Einsteinian definition of insanity: doing the same thing over and over again, expecting a different result. This too is a derivative notion, echoing Freud’s concept of repetition compulsion, first published in 1914 at the outset of the First World War. The concept of trauma has gradually merged into the lexicon of psychology since then, reaching into or underlying our understanding of several mental health disorders, including addictions.

However, some practitioners and researchers might disagree upon the premises of partners of sex addiction treatment, and therefore differ significantly in therapeutic approach. In “From Victimhood to Victorhood” (published in the March/April issue of The Therapist), Alex Katehakis writes that a “major shift has occurred in treating partners of sex addicts”. The shift she describes is towards the Relational Trauma (RT) Model, in which practitioners emphasize that partners’ relational bonds are destroyed by betrayal, as precipitated by the discovery of sexual acting out—not a historical and ongoing pattern of destructive or self-defeating behavior by non-acting out partners. In the RT approach, practitioners eschew the implication that partners contribute significantly to an addiction by an elaborate, conscious or unconscious pattern of enabling. Such suggestions are misplaced and hurtful, if sometimes accurate, assert the proponents of the RT Model, while their interventions are by contrast comforting and affirming, emphasizing the depth of betrayal by a perpetrating partner. The champions of this position are The Association for Partners of Sex Addicts Trauma Specialists (or APSATS). Their members, as well as those of the hegemonic Certified Sex Addiction Therapist (CSAT) network refer to “sex addiction induced trauma” as a specified subset of a PTSD-like condition.

PTSD-like because while discovery of sex addiction has been deemed a life altering event and has even been demonstrated to be a traumatic event for partners, according to numerous researchers (Bergner & Bridges, 2002; Glass, 2003; Steffens, 2006), each stops short of applying the PTSD diagnosis, suggesting that many or most partners of sex addicts do not meet full criteria for the condition. A resulting controversy seems partly attributable to conflicting language in the DSM-V. Psychologist David J Ley argues that typical partners of sex addicts do not meet criteria of section C of PTSD code F43.10, “persistent avoidance of stimuli associated with the traumatic event(s)”, by pointing out that these partners often demonstrate “obsessive, ruminating fixation on the details of their partners’ betrayals and actions”. He states that the essential features of sex addiction—sexual betrayal, infidelity, lying—do not constitute trauma for partners, however repetitive these behaviors may be, and that describing them as such does disservice to those who need services relating to life threatening events. With respect to the diagnostic question, I observe that language in section E of code F43.10 indicates that “marked alterations in arousal and reactivity associated with the traumatic event(s)” do meet criteria for the diagnosis of PTSD. This includes hypervigilance, which would likely describe the partners Ley discusses in his writing. Perhaps at odds with the criteria of section C, this language of section E suggests that a more concrete understanding of “avoidance of distressing memories”, versus hypervigilance, is called for; or that alternating or interwoven patterns of avoidance and hypervigilance merit further discussion as features of partners’ clinical presentations.

Ley’s position is interesting in so far as it challenges the premise of the RT model, the sex addiction-induced trauma assertion. While the assignment of trauma to sex addiction may be debatable, it might lead us to consider what life altering events are brought on for partners by other addictions. Alcoholics and gambling addicts also engage in patterns of deception and blaming alongside their destructive behaviors, yet we do not hear of “alcoholism induced trauma” or “gambling addiction induced trauma” as it might pertain to partners or families of drinkers and gamblers. With respect to sex addiction, I’d suggest that it is not so much the presentation of PTSD-like symptoms that warrants a specialized assessment label, or the pervasiveness of deception, or even the ongoing denial of partners’ assertions that sex addicts often exhibit. Rather, I think it’s the nature of the behavior, the context of the lies and deflections—sex—that hurts so deeply. After all, what is harder for our clients to talk about than problems relating to sex? What elicits shame, triggers vulnerability, rage, more than this traditionally-cited root of psychoneurosis?

At least trauma has been codified into psychiatric nomenclature. The same can not be said of sex addiction and codependency, neither of which is delineated within the DSM-V, still. While proponents of RT and co-addict models appear to accept the existence and clinical relevance of sex addiction, or Hypersexual Disorder (as it was proposed to DSM-V committees), they differ with respect to codependency. Proposal for inclusion of a Codependent Personality Disorder was originally made by Timmen L. Cermak in 1986. The diagnostic criteria for the condition then included such statements as “continued investment of self-esteem in the ability to control oneself and others”, “assumption of responsibility for meeting others’ needs to the exclusion of one’s own”, “enmeshment in relationships with personality disordered, chemically dependent, or impulsive individuals”. Cermak’s proposal also included a category which outlined other symptoms, including “excessive reliance on denial’, and “hypervigilance”, which should sound familiar, as the language of the DSM-V criteria for PTSD appears to echo this juxtaposition of ideas/symptoms.

REFERENCES

 American Psychiatric Association (2013). Diagnostic and statistical manual of mental disorders (5th ed.). Arlington, VA. American Psychiatric Publishing.

Bergner, R. & Bridges, A. (2002). The significance of heavy pornography involvement for romantic partners: research and clinical implications. Journal of Sex & Marital Therapy, 28, 193-206.

Black, Claudia (2009). Deceived. Hazelden. Center City, Minnesota.

Carnes, P. (1989) Contrary to Love. Hazelden.

Carnes, S., Lee, M. A., Rodriguez, A. D. (2012) Facing Heartbreak: Steps to Recovery for Partners of Sex Addicts. Gentle Path Press.

Cermak, T. (1986). Diagnosing and treating codependence. Minneapolis, MN: Johnson institute

David J Ley (2012, September) “Abusing the Term Trauma”. Retrieved from https://www.psychologytoday.com/abusing-the-term-trauma/

Durham, M.S. (2000) The Therapist’s Encounters with Revenge and Forgiveness. In “Psychological Repair: the intersubjective dialogue of remorse and forgiveness in the aftermath of gross human rights violations”. Journal of the American Psychoanalytic Association. Volume 63. Number 6. December 2015

Glass, S. (2003) Not just friends: Protect you relationship from infidelity and heal the trauma of betrayal. New York, NY. The Free Press.

Klein, M. (1975) Love, Guilt and Reparation and Other Works, 1921-1945. London: The Free Press, 2002.

Steffens, B. A., & Rennie, R. L. (2006) The traumatic nature of disclosure for the wives of sexual addicts. Sexual Addiction & Compulsivity, 13, 247-267.

Steffens, B. A., & Means, M. (2009) Your Sexually Addicted Spouse: How Partners Can Cope and Heal. New Horizon Press.

 

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Fill My Holes, Please

You’ll have to get past, way past, the innuendo in order to read this one. But it is about sex, not drug rehab.

This is a story about the birds and the bees…and insects. I’m referring to Nymphomaniac, avant cinema provocateur Lars Von Trier’s last installment of what’s dubbed the “depression trilogy” (the other films are Antichrist and Melancholia). If you’ve heard anything about this controversial 4-hour, Volume I & II epic (apparently 5 hours in its uncut version), then you’re likely aware of the explicit sex scenes, the use of digital compositing to superimpose the genitals of porn actors over those of the film’s actors. You may be less aware of its dense symbolism, thematic complexity, and stridently taboo outlook.

Charlotte Gainsbourg plays Joe, the self-loathing title character, discovered beaten and bruised in the film’s opening scene by a diffident, scholarly recluse, Seligman, played by Stellen Skarsgard. Refusing either medical attention or help from police, Joe accepts Seligman’s hospitality, returning to his humble home, a sparse, shabby room, wherein she can rest, recuperate and, as it turns out, tell the long confessional story of her self-proclaimed nymphomania. From the outset, Joe makes it clear that she is ashamed of her sexuality, saying she has callously used people throughout her life, and that she therefore deserves the brutality she has endured. Seligman listens intently with a combination of sympathy and detachment—less a confessor than an analyst. No solution-focus in his repertoire. Still, he confronts Joe’s self-loathing, challenging with intellectual arguments that compare Joe’s behavior to that of an immature insect (the definition of a nymph, for viewers who don’t know). He also weaves in references to mathematics and religion, and in so doing, becomes a comic counterpoint to Joe’s compulsive hedonism, and also an unlikely listener. He is a forgotten kind of neutral: not only “non-judgmental”, he is a virgin, perhaps a eunuch.

Anyway, Joe seems to trust him, though she is irritated by his tangential curiosity in academic versus taboo or sensual matters. She attempts an argument that she is evil. His rebuttal is a proclamation of what is merely natural. Thus, Seligman is undisturbed by the story of Joe’s once teenage competition with a rival to see how many anonymous sexual conquests can be made on a train. As she recounts one presumably disturbing sexual episode after another, he maintains his cool, non-judgmental stance, ever keeping the horror at bay, ever blocking an imagined audience’s shock. The character of Seligman seems like a stand-in for Von Trier: fascinated, but rebutting society’s finger-wagging, defending sex. However, Joe is a tough, complicated patient/penitent. Her shame is powerful, but so too are her defenses. In Volume I, we learn of her “pact” with peers that entails the rejection of love. The compulsion to act out sexually is integrated into a philosophy that normalizes exploitation and quietly justifies an ongoing and progressive habit. In her confessional, Joe disdains sentiment, and alternates her self-loathing with fiercely defensive diatribes.

Volume I ends with a crisis of sorts: Joe’s sexual tolerance (in addiction terms) has peaked; she can no longer “feel anything”. In Volume II, after experiments with sado-masochism, among other things, the specter of “treatment” for Joe’s nymphomania is finally raised. But she rebels against the pedestrian and “bourgeois” therapist who prefers the term “sex addict” and who glibly counsels Joe to methodically abstain from her sexuality. After three weeks of abstinence, Joe stands up in a support group, subverts the implicitly rote exercise, proudly declares that she “loves her cunt”, and triumphantly walks out of the session. Shame? It comes and goes in this story framed largely around flashbacks. Only as she ages and the present-day telling begins does she contemplate the emptiness within her double entendres: “Fill my holes, please”.

And it is ambiguous when the shame began for her. As Joe tells the backstory of her nymphomania, a younger Joe is characterized as a somewhat blank, almost doltish (though not innocent) figure, played by novice actress Stacy Martin. As a teen and early twenty-something, Joe seems dissociative, not exactly there, whether seducing a future husband, Jerome, or scheduling-in a series of lovers into her daily routine. Even when confronted by a lover’s humiliated wife and pre-teen sons (a dark but comic scene featuring Uma Thurman), she seems unmoved and distracted. Meanwhile, Joe neither seems seductive or even flirtatious with men, mostly because it simply isn’t necessary for her to be so. It’s as if Von Trier is making an adjunctive statement about male sexuality, one that—from the POV of a man—makes for uncomfortable viewing: namely, that seducing men doesn’t require much effort, much less qualities like charm. To side-bar into something self-serving, she reminds me of my character Chris Leavitt from Crystal From The Hills, who I think is difficult to like or become interested in, largely because of his dissociated, secretive, not there qualities. Yet having readers like him is the task, wrapping backstory and more energetic characters around my wayward protagonist because the traumatized have an important story, whether they tell it well or not.

So it is with Joe, though because we meet her elder version as an articulate and wounded storyteller, we perhaps feel more hope for her character, and more understanding from her POV. Nonetheless, her sexuality is an enigma: there seems to be little joy or even creativity in Joe’s past or present scheming, such as we might expect of a womanizer. For example, when seemingly traumatized by the delirium tremens of her hospitalized and dying father, she ventures down into the belly of the ward and is soon naked, bucking rhythmically atop an anonymous orderly. For Joe, getting laid is about as difficult as finding a break room with a vending machine. I make this point because amid the controversies that Nymphomania will likely spark, few will draw attention to how men are depicted. That’s because this is a film about a female protagonist as directed by a man, and is dominantly about women’s sexuality, so no matter how unflattering this film may be of men, it’s still far more likely that Von Trier will be accused of misogyny.

Regardless, of all the provocative tidbits in Nymphomaniac (there are soapbox moments about pedophilia and race for example) I think the most important issue concerns the filmmaker’s apparent attitude towards the genesis of Joe’s nymphomania. Using Seligman as a mouthpiece, Von Trier essays that Joe’s affliction, if it is even to be called that, is a natural condition, versus, say, a proclivity borne of childhood sexual abuse, as might be supposed by many viewers. I will admit to supposing this, partly because trauma is the etiology of Chris Leavitt’s affliction in CFTH, but mostly because Joe’s father, played by Christian Slater, is an alcoholic to whom Joe betrays an element of Electra complex—I made a guess during Volume I that Joe’s attraction to the mechanically inadequate and even mathematically precise lover, Jerome (8 thrusts: 3 missionary, 5 from behind) is a reenactment. Alas, there’s nothing in the film to substantiate my interpretation. Von Trier’s position seems to be more or less a Freudian/Kleinien statement: an assertion that human beings are sexual as infants. Without apology, Trier eschews latter day speculations of traumatologists, not to mention polite society, which remains horrified, not only by pedophilia, but also by the notion that children can have anything like sexual feelings. Seligman’s mini-speech towards the end—an unfortunately trite statement declaring that, if anything, Joe has been oppressed by a patriarchal society—suggests a feminist sympathy and a rebuke of mainstream prurience. Maybe Von Trier remembered some things as he was writing this story. Maybe he felt ashamed.

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