Her lips and tongue were still black from remnants of the activated charcoal they forced down her throat in the emergency room to neutralize the effects of the bottle of aspirin she had gobbled. Her wrists were tightly wrapped with surgical gauze and tape to stem the bleeding and sanitize the wounds from her self-inflicted cuts. And there she lay in the ICU, barely recovering from her thwarted attempt to take her own life.
How was this even possible? Gretchen was in her mid-twenties, bright, attractive, and seemingly had the world at her feet.
We were working together as interns at a local counseling center. We both were relatively new to the field of psychology and shared the excitement of altering our respective career paths — mine in entertainment, hers in sales. Gretchen was an intensely passionate woman, brimming with dedication and enthusiasm. So, needless to say, it came as a complete shock to me when I found out that she had attempted suicide late the previous night.
I dashed to the hospital the moment I heard the news, and anxiously found my way to her room. And there she was. It was definitely Gretchen…or at least a sunken and hollow version of Gretchen.
I quietly sat at her bedside, gently placing my hand on her shoulder. She looked up, recognized me, and was able to barely squeeze out a smile.
What the hell am I supposed to say in a moment like this? “I’m glad that you’re okay”? (Yes.) “I’m so sorry that you’re in such emotional pain”? (Yes.) “I’m confused and angry that you did this to yourself”? (Well, I certainly thought it — but I wouldn’t actually say it.)
I didn’t know Gretchen all that well, but I hoped she’d appreciate me not beating around the bush. “Gretchen, if it’s not too personal…can I ask you why you were feeling so bad that you would do this to yourself?”
Her voice was weak, but the words were clear. “Well…I’ve sure given it a ton of thought. I know that I’ve always felt this deep void that goes way back to my early childhood. My parents clothed me and fed me, but I never felt seen by them. Or emotionally connected to them. So, I unconsciously developed a dysfunctional attachment style. It makes being intimate with others terrifying…but I still really crave it. I think it comes down to a core fear of abandonment.” I was dumbfounded by her keen awareness.
She continued, “Over the years, I learned to develop a social façade to compensate for how lonely and empty I feel on the inside. And when I get close to people now, I have a lack of object permanence — so long as they’re in my physical presence I feel safe, but the moment they’re gone, it’s like they’re gone…as if they don’t even exist. And when that happens, I’m gripped with panic. It’s learned helplessness — that no matter what I do or try, it won’t make any difference.”
And she wasn’t done. “I also didn’t have good role models for healthy relationships. So I never learned how to have one. Then there’s the genetic part…depression runs throughout my mom’s side of the family. There’s probably more, but that’s my understanding as of now.”
I nodded, speechless. Man, was I impressed! Her knowledge went way beyond anything I was learning in graduate school.
I let her know that I was pulling for her and offered my assurance that I would help in any way I could. I gave her a gentle squeeze on the shoulder and headed out the door, still in awe at her deep self-understanding. When suddenly, I was clobbered over the head with an entirely different thought: What damn good was all of that insight? She just tried to kill herself!
I came to realize that our ability to understand something does not necessarily enable us to change it. Moreover, insight into the “root” of a problem does not invariably solve the problem.
Gretchen’s insight didn’t buffer her against crushing pain and the impulse to end her life. But my insight — into the limitations of insight — turned out to be valuable.
I’m not saying that insight isn’t important. It can be a useful, even indispensable, tool to help solve problems and alleviate human suffering. But it clearly has its limits.
What is a better solution? I don’t know for sure. For some, it’s taking action. For others, it’s pursuing happiness or searching for meaning. Or maybe it’s something else entirely. But insight alone? Sorry…despite its many virtues, insight may just be the psychological booby prize of life.