Being Bad

I open my waiting room door to a slender young woman who looks up at me as though startled. With perfect posture she follows me into my office and sits gingerly on the chair I designate. She stares at me expectantly.
“How can I help you?” I ask, smiling.

“This is all confidential, right?” she asks quietly.

“Yes,” I say, immediately on guard.

“I’ve done something terrible.” 

I say nothing, my anxiety increasing. 

Silence.

“Do you want to tell me what that terrible thing was or would you prefer to give me some background information first?” I ask, trying to make us both more comfortable.

“Well, I’m Brenda Masters. I’m 29, a real estate broker. I work in my father’s company. I do pretty well,” she adds, smiling for the first time. “I like it. I did graduate from college because my parents wanted me to, but I kind of always wanted to go into the business. My older brother’s in the business too. My older sister is studying to be a doctor. She was always the brain. I own my condo – my Dad bought it for me – although I’d like to own a house one day. I date, but there’s no one special, not for a while.”

Pause.

“My life’s pretty good. That’s what makes this all the more strange.”

“Perhaps you need to tell me what “this” is.”

Taking a deep breath, she says, “About a month ago I parked downtown and went to do some shopping. I’m not sure how long I was gone, but when I got back there was a BMW convertible behind me and some fancy Porsche in front. They penned me in. I couldn’t move. Made me mad. I stood there a while hoping one of them would come back. No such luck. Finally I got into my car and tried to more a few inches up and back, up and back. But it was ridiculous. I couldn’t get anywhere.” 

Pause. 

“So then I stepped on the gas to see if I could move one of the cars a
little. And then I gave it more gas and before long I was ramming first one car and then the other. Bang! Bang!! Up and back, up and back. Crunch, crunch, crunch. I was obviously damaging my car too, but I didn’t care. I liked the feeling, the power. I liked showing them they couldn’t just push me around!” she says, quite animated at this point. “This time I was the one doing the pushing! And then I was out! I was free! It was a great feeling. I showed them!”

She pauses, seemingly trying to return to her previous calm and controlled state. “I guess I was lucky there weren’t many people around that day, maybe because it was raining. I told my Dad someone messed up my bumper and he had it fixed. No biggie.”

“And does it feel like ‘no biggie?’”

“Well, I guess I felt both thrilled and guilty. I decided not think about it. But I couldn’t. That’s the problem,” she says, lowering her head. “I’ve done it again. More than once. I look for the right place and the right day and I do it again. I know that’s not good. I know it’s wrong. And I know I’ll get in trouble. But it’s become like an obsession. Can you help me?”

“I think so, but first we have to understand why it’s become an obsession, why you feel so stimulated battering someone’s car. Do you have any thoughts?”

“I don’t know. I’ve never seen myself as an angry person. I was always the good girl. My brother used to tease me for being so good, said it made him look bad.”

“Do you know why you were so good?”

“I don’t know. Maybe because my brother was the boy and my sister was the smart one and I had to do something to distinguish myself, so I was good.”

“And what happened when you felt angry?”

“I didn’t get angry.”

“You never felt angry?”

“I never expressed it.”

“So what did you do with your anger?”

She hesitates. “I didn’t eat. And when that wasn’t okay, I ate and threw up.”

“Do you still do that?”

“Sometimes, but not much.”

“What’s going on in your life today when you eat and throw up.”

“I don’t know. I guess I feel fat.”

“Has your throwing up increased or decreased since you’ve been ramming cars?”

“Hmm. I might not have thrown up since that first time. Wow! You think there’s a connection?”

“Could be. You know, Brenda, you immediately struck me as a person very much in control, holding yourself back, reining yourself in. I wonder if both throwing up and ramming cars is a way for you to let go, to release some of the anger you’ve been sitting on your whole life.”

“But what do I have to feel angry about?”

“I guess that’s one of the things we’ll need to figure out.”

The Unexpected Affair

Judith is a tall, attractive 44 year old woman who carries herself as if she knows she will be noticed, clearly distinguished from those around her. Although she’s presently a stay at home Mom, today she is dressed as the lawyer she is, a perfectly fitting gray suit and black high heels.

“I’ve decided to have an affair,” she says matter-of-factly.

I’m startled. In the six or so months I’ve seen Judith, she talked about being dissatisfied in her marriage, but hadn’t mentioned the presence of another man.

“With whom?” I ask.

“I don’t know yet.”

Silence.

“I know,” she continues, “that’s a rather unusual way to go about it, but since my husband hardly gives me the time of day – I can’t even remember the last time we had sex or even had a real conversation  - I decided I might as well get my needs met elsewhere. I’m not going to leave him. The kids need their father and I need some male attention so, an affair’s the answer.”

During the course of my career I have seen many men and women who have been unfaithful to their partners with one or many other people.  I’ve always been comfortable talking with them about both their feelings and the meaning of these multiple relationships. But Judith’s cavalier manner, her impulsive decision, and her pronouncement to me without any apparent willingness to discuss her decision, is both off-putting and confusing.

“When did you make this decision? And how do you feel about it?”

“It feels like a good decision. Solves lots of problems. I guess I decided a couple of days ago. Hence my outfit today. I figure any time I’m out and about I need to be looking my best.”

“Did anything happen in the last couple of days? Anything happen since we last met?”

“No,” she replies flatly. “Nothing happened. Same old, same old, I guess that’s what happened.”    

“Do you plan to talk to your husband about your decision?”

“What!? Are you crazy? He’d divorce me in a minute.”

I knew she wouldn’t tell her husband. Why did I ask that question? Was I trying to make her feel guilty? Surprisingly, what Judith is contemplating does feel ‘wrong’ to me, it feels ‘wrong’ for a person in a committed relationship to decide in a calculated and apparently logical way to become involved with an unknown other person. I feel very differently if the person has an affair and wants to talk about it, understand it, and deal with the meaning it has for them. Hmm, I think. Her pronouncement felt as though she was throwing down a gauntlet. Perhaps that means her decision is about me, about our relationship. What was it we talked about in last week? Of course! She told me she read my book, the book in which I discuss both the intensely loving relationship I had with my late husband, as well as my strong emotional involvement with many of my patients.

“Judith, how did you feel about my book? I know we talked a little about it last week, but you seemed to skirt really looking at your feelings.”

“Now where are you going? I told you I thought you wrote very well and that the book was engaging.”

“But how did you feel about it? How did you feel about my relationship with my husband? About my relationship with my patients.”

She shrugs. “I guess I felt you were lucky. Here you had this shitty relationship with your father, but you found this adoring man to marry. I didn’t have that shitty a relationship with my father – not that he paid much attention to me, too focused on my mother – and I married a man who still doesn’t pay any attention to me.”

“So, perhaps you felt angry with me, that, in your words, I got lucky, while you got stuck.”

“Yeah, that’s about right.”

“So I came out ahead just as your mother came out ahead and that makes you doubly angry.”

“I hadn’t thought of that, but I guess that’s true.”

“So your ‘decision’ to have an affair is really based on your anger at both me and your mother for getting more than you, for leaving you feeling cheated.”

“You really don’t want me to have an affair, do you?”

“I think you’re saying I’m trying to keep you away from happiness, from your father.”

“That’s a bit too deep for me. I think you think having an affair is wrong.”

“I don’t necessarily think that having an affair is wrong. I think affairs have many meanings.  For you those meanings are clearly related to feelings about both your parents, that you bring into the present and into this room.”

“So you think I shouldn’t have an affair?”

“I think we should talk about it a lot more before you act.”

“I can’t promise that.”

“I understand. You don’t have to promise anything. You get to do what you do and we get to deal with it.”

“Okay. As long as that’s clear, I’ll see you next week.”