Submission

“I can’t believe that I’m spending all my time in therapy talking about my job,” Pauline exclaims, bursting into tears. “I thought you talk about your childhood or relationships, not a dumb job!”

I’ve seen Pauline only a short time and she’s correct, she’s spent most of her time talking about her job. She’s a graphic designer, a good one it seems, but she’s been in a state of panic since the administration in her company changed, resulting in her reporting to two different supervisors.

“This week the artistic director wanted me to drop everything and work on one project, while the marketing director wanted me to work on a totally different project. What am I supposed to do?” she asks, crying. “I’m think I’m going to quit. I can’t stand the stress!”

“Pauline, I understand that you can’t possibly do two different things at the same time, but what I don’t understand is why it is so, so distressing to you.”

“But I can’t do what both of them want!”

“I understand that you can’t do what they both want,” I say. “But I don’t understand why that throws you into such a state of panic. I don’t know a lot about you, about your history, your past, so it’s hard for me to know what might be going on for you, but since your anxiety is so intense, I would suspect it does have something to do with your childhood. I’m only guessing here, but was there a lot of conflict between your parents? Did you feel you had to choose between them?”

“No, not at all. They presented a united front. There was no room for discussion. You just obeyed. You did what they said. My mother was the tough one, though.”

Pauline hesitates. I wait.

“This is hard for me to talk about. I feel like I’m betraying her. She was doing what she thought was best.”

I can feel Pauline’s anxiety. I also see the beginnings of a connection, the issues of obedience and betrayal perhaps linking the past and the present.

“You never disobeyed my mother. She wouldn’t talk to you for days, for weeks if you did. She knew that she and Dad were right and that you just had to do what they said. I couldn’t stand that silent treatment. I felt like I’d lost her. So I did what she wanted. Even about work. I was really good at math and science as a kid. I wanted to be a doctor. But my parents said no, that I’d never find a husband if I became a doctor, that I’d never have children and a life, so I couldn’t do it. I was good in art too, so I became a graphic artist. It’s okay. At least it was.”

Inside I scream, “No! No! You need to do what you want to do!” Part of this reaction is probably my experiencing Pauline’s unfelt anger and rebellion. But I know that some of the feelings are all mine. My father was an angry, explosive man who hated psychology and psychoanalysis and always opposed my career choice, responding with both anger and contempt. But as afraid as I was of him, I fought for what I wanted. My grandmother taught me that. Pauline probably didn’t have such a role model in her past. She submitted.

“You couldn’t resist your parents and pursue your dream. You had to submit.”

“Submit. Yes, that’s a good word. I’ve submitted my whole life. With my parents, with men, with work, whatever.”

“It sounds like that’s why this work situation is so difficult for you. You have two authority figures wanting different things from you. You can’t obey them both. So you feel scared just as you did as a child. Then you can’t think from the place of an adult and figure out a way to handle the situation however you need to do.”

“That’s true! I always want to please. But I can’t please two people at once.” She pauses. “So what should I do?”

I smile. “I understand that you’re very used to having people tell you what to do, but maybe that’s one of the things we can work on changing. I suspect you know a lot more about your company and the people involved than I do and that you’re the one who’s best able to figure out what to do.”

The Push for Success

I’ve only seen Sergio for a few sessions. Originally from Columbia, he and his wife risked all they had to come to the United States, seeking a better life for themselves and especially for their unborn children. They have four children now and it’s because of them he came to see me. 

“My wife says I push them too much. And that it got worse after Mother’s Day. You know, school’s about to get out. I tell them, I don’t want any presents, save your money. What I want is all As on your report cards. I work hard. I carry bedpans, wash people’s butts, put up with not nice people. I smile. I don’t complain. It’s a steady job. I’m lucky to have it. I’ve taken my kids to that nursing home. I show them what their father does all day. Is this what you want, I ask them? And my wife, she’s cleaning people’s houses. All we do is work.”   

“Do you think you might be pressuring them a bit too much?” I ask gingerly.

“No!” he replies emphatically, “My wife and I struggle every day. Every day we work to give them a better life. So why shouldn’t they get all As? That’s their work.” 

I like Sergio. I admire his grit, his determination. Yet conflicting and complex emotions course through me. The immigrant experience, I think warmly to myself, flashing on my beloved grandparents who only wanted “better” for their children and for me. I think of being five and sitting at their kitchen table and my grandmother telling me I was going to be the next Madame Curie. That’s the warm side, the good feelings. But then there was my father. He was contemptuous of his immigrant parents, wanting only to distance himself from them, avidly pushing education and success for both himself and me, his only child. The pressure often felt unbearable. 

“And did all you children bring you straight As?” I ask.

“No!” he says angrily.

“And you were obviously angry. How did you show your anger?”

“I wouldn’t talk with them all Father’s Day.”

Ouch! I think to myself, feeling the press to protect his children, as I wish I too had been protected.

“Sergio, is it possible that not all of your children are capable of getting straight As in every class, every time?”

“Why shouldn’t they be?”

“Well, different children have different strengths. Some are good in math and not good in English or the other way around. And sometimes if you’re too strict with children, they rebel, they try to get back at you by not doing well, even if they’re not aware of it.”

“No!” he exclaims, shaking his head from side to side. “That will not happen!”

This isn’t working. In my eagerness to protect the children, I’ve lost sight of my patient. 

“Sergio, how do you feel when say – what’s the name of your eldest?”

“Eduardo.”

“When Eduardo doesn’t get straight As?”

“Angry. He’s not working hard enough! Too much time on the computer.”

“I understand, but what does it mean for you that he’s not working hard enough. In addition to anger, what do you feel?”

Sergio sits thoughtfully. “I don’t know how to say it. It makes me feel bad. It makes me feel, I don’t know. I can’t find the words.”

“Do you think it makes you feel sad for you, for your life? You’ve made so many sacrifices. You continue to make so many sacrifices – a job you barely tolerate, long hours, no time with your wife – that it’s really, really important that your children make it all worthwhile.”

“Yes, that’s it,” he says smiling.

“I know this may be hard for you to believe, Sergio, but you can’t expect your children to make your life worthwhile. You can make your own life worthwhile. Wait! Wait!” I say, seeing that he’s about to interrupt me. “Of course you want your children to do well. But hopefully you want that for them, not for you. Hopefully you want them to do what will bring them good feelings about themselves and their lives, not necessarily what you want for them. What if Eduardo was really good working with his hands? What if he wanted to be a mechanic or a carpenter?”

“I don’t know,” he says hesitantly.

“I know,” I say. “That was a long speech.” Directed, I think to myself, to both you and to my father. “You can think about it and we’ll talk more next week.”