I found that I could say things with colors and shapes that I couldn’t say in any other way — things that I had no words for.
The following drawings are taken from my collection, which has been gathered over thirty years. The drawings were done by friends, family, colleagues, my patients, and patients under the care of other doctors. My commentary about them will help readers understand how each one was interpreted. In some cases, where appropriate and meaningful, I have mentioned the patient’s outcome. The purpose of this commentary is not to relate personal histories but to introduce readers to the language of the subconscious through drawings, and to illustrate how each picture becomes a valuable resource, even when it is only a few lines scribbled on a page. Recent studies reveal how imagery can speed healing and reduce pain after surgery. The drawings reveal what images need to be created for this to happen in all aspects of life.
The child artist has drawn a ball of color that is fairly well contained and controlled, but the colors are not in order, as they would be in a rainbow. The black section of the image suggests that something in the child’s life is bothering her. The picture shows a lot of emotion (the reds) and all kinds of things going on in her life: purples = spiritual aspects; yellows = energy. But still, there is an issue that’s buried, and it needs to be brought out and talked about. It’s not a massive problem but something that’s eating away deep within her. It looks as if her life is out of order, and not that she’s experiencing a physical disorder. If the child had drawn herself and put some black in that image, then I would say it could represent a physical disease, but this more clearly signifies something emotional.
When the boy who drew this picture is happy and his life is in order, there is a rainbow; all his emotions are in order. But here the rainbow is between black clouds. When he’s living in the rainbow, he feels good; so even when there’s trouble in his life, he still maintains order and control of his feelings. The picture is filled in with blue and green — natural, healthy colors. His life is full, which is indicated by the fact that he took time to color the whole page. But still, there are things that limit his rainbow. I would ask him what problems he is experiencing — what’s getting in the way and curtailing his happiness — and would work with him on any problem he then verbalized.
The colors on this balloon resemble a rainbow, but the colors have been rearranged so that red and orange are on the inside. This could mean the artist is burying or hiding the feelings they represent, rather than expressing them. The sun is present, but even it has red streaks in front of it. This implies he has an emotional issue he needs to deal with — not a terrible one, because he’s got a lot of healthy, natural colors here, and there’s a blue cloud with yellow, not a black cloud. Helen Keller said if you face the sunshine, you’ll never see the shadows, but it’s hard for him to face the sunshine because, in his drawing, the cloud (his emotional issue) is getting in the way.
Because of the colors the artist has picked, I don’t think the implied problem would be hard to resolve. I would ask him why the balloon is anchored, and why it’s tied with three strings. Why isn’t he in the balloon taking a nice trip? I would ask, “What’s tying you down, what’s limiting you and causing emotional tension?” The balloon also looks like a lightbulb, which could be his inner voice saying, “I need to bring light to the situation and resolve it.” I would also ask him to count the little green plants and see if the number is meaningful to him.
Compare this drawing to the rainbow picture and notice how it makes you feel. It prompts you to ask, “What’s going on in this kid’s life?” It’s messy, without order, and there’s black in it. It could be the result of a parental or family problem, an illness, or any of a host of other things. The child needs help finding order in his or her life. The letters are purple, which indicates the artist is spiritual and not so sick he is going to become a spirit. All the feelings are there, out in the open, but they need to be expressed in a healthy way so that the problem can be resolved and the confusion cleared away.
This looks like coils of wire or yarn all tangled up. This is the central issue. It’s so light and streaky; there’s a lot of energy in it and total entanglement. Something has created that tangle and caused the problem. If black were not present, I’d say it’s a matter of disorder, but the black here suggests a significant emotional issue that needs to be dealt with. The child needs to express her feelings and to get help untangling her life. Getting her straightened out will take a lot more work than helping the child who drew figure 4.
ANATOMY: INNER KNOWLEDGE OF STRUCTURES AND DISEASE
Following an appendectomy, a young boy’s abdomen was distended, meaning he was filling with gas because his intestine hadn’t started working again. My immediate worry was whether there was an obstruction, which would require another surgery to relieve it. I asked him to draw a picture of himself. He drew an x-ray on the wall, although there was no x-ray-viewing screen in his room, so I paid close attention to the x-ray. In the x-ray, the big white area is his stomach, and the coils represent his intestine. When you have intestinal obstruction, the small intestine fills with gas and fluid because it can’t empty out, but here it is neatly folded, with no distention. In addition, the boy chose brown and blue, healthy colors, rather than red and black, which would have suggested there was a problem.
These details led me to believe his intestines must simply be recovering from the original infection and the anesthetic drugs, and that he had no intestinal obstruction. Having learned through experience to trust patients’ drawings, I continued to observe him and treat him symptomatically. In a few days his intestines were working again, and he began to pass gas. His body had just needed more time than usual to recover, and no further surgery was required.
A male patient with some symptoms of appendicitis drew this picture and threw it in the wastebasket. I pulled it out and studied the picture. An appendix looks like one finger of a glove attached to the intestine, much like the arms and legs in this picture. When it becomes obstructed by feces or something else, it becomes engorged and inflamed. Observe the little ball at the end of this figure’s arm. It looks like a blockage; also note the swollen extremities, lacking hands or feet, and the empty spaces. The color is orange, which refers to change; after an operation, the patient would be different. This drawing, coupled with his symptoms, led me to believe he did have appendicitis and that he needed surgery. We operated and confirmed the diagnosis.
When this boy was wheeled into the operating room, he gave me two drawings, even though I hadn’t asked him to draw anything. Handing me figure 8, he said, “This is like before the operation,” and handing me figure 9, he said, “And this is like after the operation.” Stop and look. This is a good example of how the subconscious uses visual language. What operation do you think he had? The boy drew airplanes, but you can see what part of the anatomy they represented. Another word that refers to a penis is cock; and here the pilot is, sitting in a cockpit. In figure 8, the foreskin is covering the penis, and in figure 9 the foreskin is gone and the penis is exposed.
In the first drawing, the cockpit is open and the pilot’s head is sticking out, but in the after-surgery image the artist closes the cockpit and is hiding the pilot inside. It says to me that he’s going to protect his penis for the rest of his life and not let anything like this happen to it again. It’s interesting that the bullets from the gun mounted on the wing change from droplets, in the first picture, to straight lines in the second. I’d say the straight lines look more powerful, more forceful. He knows it will be ready to go to work and do what it needs to do. And blue is a healthy color. So he’s not feeling pain or distress at the prospect of surgery. This drawing says the circumcision is an okay thing for him.
FIGURES 10 AND 11
These two images were drawn by brothers. Timothy drew his house (fig. 10), and it looks like a phallic symbol in red, a sign of emotion, which relates to his surgery (circumcision). And he put fourteen apples on his tree, which may relate to people in the family, a date, or some other quantity. He used healthy colors for the sun (yellow = energy), tree (green = life), and swing set (blue = health). The swings are a source of fun, with the red representing him, and the blue, his brother. The mailbox flag is up and, along with its color (brown = nourishing earth), its existence suggests he has no trouble communicating his feelings; the chimney on the house gives him an outlet to relieve pressure and worry. This picture suggests he will be okay.
Thomas, too, drew a phallic house (fig. 11), in purple with nine windows on one side of the house and one window at the end of the attic. His tree had nine apples close together and one positioned at the edge of the tree. Nine and one are significant because he repeats the pattern, and had he been my patient I would have asked him whether those numbers held any meaning. His colors are healthy, but the frame he added to the edges of the paper suggests he feels limited or restricted; and he has no chimney to release pressure and worry.
Look at these sails. It’s easy to see this woman has breast cancer. The birds are the people in her life who have difficulty coping with her cancer, and so they are black. The sun has seven rays but is partly out of the picture. The boat represents her and the current problem, and it is outlined in black and red (grief, pain, worry) and is sailing on rough seas. Nobody is in the boat; it appears to be tossed about, with only the wind controlling the sails, which reveals what she is experiencing.
THE FUTURE, DEATH, AND INTUITION: CONSCIOUS OR UNCONSCIOUS KNOWING
Figures 13, 14, AND 15
In the previous chapter I referred to the medical student who came to me seeking advice about his career choice after his father, a doctor, died from cancer. The student was worried that the physical and emotional demands of being a doctor had contributed to his father’s disease. I told him to draw himself in the occupations he was considering. In figure 13, he’s a politician. In figure 14, he is a teacher. Neither of these looked promising. His drawing of the doctor (fig. 15) was the most pleasant scene, with its healthy colors, images, and actions. I recommended that he stay in medical school and he did. He became a psychiatrist, which turned out to be the right profession for him.
FIGURES 16 AND 17
I asked medical students to draw pictures of themselves working as doctors, and figures 16 and 17 represent two extremes from that class. Almost all the students, whether male or female, drew the doctor sitting behind a desk with a diploma on the wall, but they depicted no patients or other people in the same room. Figure 16 blew my mind. There’s a vague face on the lower right, but it’s unclear whether it represents the doctor or the patient. It appears as if it may signify an intellect, not a human being, because only the head is present. And what else does this doctor have? Books, a computer, a name, vegetables, pills — it’s not about people. This drawing is not about caring for people but about treating disease. The individual who drew it would label patients: “You have a migraine headache, or you have cancer; here take this.” Or: “If you’re depressed, take that.” I can’t imagine this artist functioning as a doctor unless she were to go into research, working only in the laboratory instead of with patients.
At the other extreme is a wonderful picture from the same class (fig. 17). This is what being a doctor is all about. The artist depicts himself kneeling down, so he’s at the patient’s level. Look at that arm — he’s become one with her. He’s making eye contact, smiling, and giving her a tissue. His body is saying there’s hope. He has a stethoscope, but it’s not what he uses to touch the patient. If students depict themselves touching a patient, usually they show themselves doing so with the stethoscope or some other instrument, not their hands.
Among patients’ drawings, the most encouraging ones show people in their room — the operating room, or their hospital room where they are supposed to be in isolation receiving a bone marrow transplant — and the doctor is with them, touching them. When patients envision their doctors without a cap, mask, and gown on, which they would wear in the sterile environment of a real operating room, the symbolism is beautiful. It suggests a personal relationship and a positive outcome.
The man who drew this was afraid to have chemotherapy and refused treatment. But the yellow energy flowing to his cancer revealed that his intuition knew it would be good for him. Intellect and intuition don’t always agree. Whether you decide to have a treatment or not, you don’t want to be in conflict about it. After understanding what his inner voice was saying, he decided to go ahead, and it proved to be the right decision.
FIGURES 19 AND 20
These two images were drawn by a doctor who had developed cancer. In figure 19, the three birds are his children. The drooping wings mean they’re having emotional problems dealing with their father’s illness. The fish (a spiritual symbol) is out of the water and facing west, where the sun sets, revealing how he feels about what he is facing. He’s also sailing away from the sun and his kids. He and his wife are in the boat, on this journey together, and they’re orange (which signals an upcoming change). I hope the yellow sail and purple boat are about the couple’s faith, spiritual growth, and transformation — not a sign that he is planning to die. He’s sitting, and the lines depicting the boat’s outline are under his feet, so he’s not tied down; he’s able to get out. But the lines go over his wife, holding her body down. He’s got the sail and the tiller, so even though she’s with him on the journey, he isn’t letting her help him. This is not survival behavior. It’s as if he’s trying to protect the family by not telling them how he feels (one hand is behind his back). He’s got all the controls, and when he doesn’t let them help him, they feel worse.
After a little therapy, the doctor drew figure 20. Notice the bright colors of his kids (the birds) and how their wings go up. He’s now sailing toward the sun (the far future), and rays of energy are emanating from it. Count the rays; he’s got a good number of years ahead of him. The fish has turned around and looks more powerful, with better color. It is facing the east, where the sun rises — and when you face the sun, you see no shadows. The four waves represent completeness. The wind is in his sail; he doesn’t have to hold or control it, and he and his wife are holding hands. They’re smiling; they’re on the journey together and no longer separated. They have eyes and noses. God breathed life into Adam through his nostrils. If you don’t have a nose, how do you breathe life? He’s got an ear, so his wife can talk to him, and he’s listening to her.
The woman who drew this was consciously unaware not only that her drawing would predict her suicide attempt but also that her children, symbolized by four rays of sunshine, would save her, and that eight members of her family would be there when she woke up in the hospital. I folded the drawing into quadrants to show how present, past, and future were all represented.
FIGURES 22 AND 23
The color orange means change, and when seven-year-old Monica wrote her name in black on orange (fig. 22), it signaled that she was not happy about having surgery. In the room where Monica was going to have her surgery, two yellow lights, which you could reach up to adjust and focus on the operation, hung over the operating table (fig. 23). The lights were attached to bendable arms, which could be maneuvered to direct the light, and at the elbow a black knob would tighten to hold the light in place. What is really interesting here is that Monica had never been in the operating room. Even so, she drew a room like a box, and at both ends are two yellow lights with two black knobs on each of them. During an operation, the patient lies on a white sheet, and is then covered with a sterile blue sheet that has an opening positioned over the surgical area. Here Monica has drawn the white and blue sheets, and she is the pink figure in the center. She also drew four lines above her head. In the operating room, there is a scrub nurse, an anesthesiologist, and myself, as well as a circulating nurse — someone who isn’t scrubbed in and who can leave the room and get whatever equipment the surgeon may need. In the drawing, the circulating nurse is represented by a line that partly crosses the room’s border. Monica intuitively knew that this is a person who can come and go and who wouldn’t remain in the room with her the whole time.
This picture is what changed people’s thinking at the hospital. Many of them had thought I was nuts to glean information from drawings, but this was a child who drew key elements of the operating room despite having never seen it. So where did this picture come from? After Monica’s drawing impressed people at the hospital, they were converted, and my patients’ drawings became a lot more interesting than x-rays and scans.
The green shrubs in this woman’s drawing turned out to be a prediction of how long she would live: she was buried nearly three years to the day after she drew it.
FIGURES 25 AND 26
Before our daughter got married, I said to her and her fiancé, “Why don’t you each draw two pictures — one of yourself and one of the two of you as a couple?” Our daughter drew on the front and back of one piece of paper, which is meaningful because you can hold it up to the light and the self-portrait becomes superimposed on the couple on the opposite side. (If the person or family members are positioned so they’re standing on you, your family is a problem.) When I held this up to the light, her raised hand was on his head and her other hand was on her heart. I said, “If he’s in his head and you are in your heart, you’re going to have a problem.”
The drawing of the couple (fig. 25) shows her pulling him to get him to walk in her direction, but he isn’t even looking at her. They do have ears, but hers are black because what she hears from him is causing her to despair. In her self-portrait (fig. 26) she is wearing orange shoes, yet with him she is wearing black ones. She’s got bigger fingers in the self-portrait, so she’s got a better grip on things when she’s not with him. I said, “Between his head and your heart, you’ve got to find a way to communicate with each other and work things out if your relationship is going to survive.” But they never did. One of their sons was born with a serious genetic metabolic problem; and when that was added to the situation, divorce was the ultimate outcome.
This was drawn by a doctor who had cancer and whose kids were grown. He wondered how his kids were doing. I said, “Draw a picture of your family for me.” He said, “They’re all over the country; what’s that going to tell me?” I told him he’d intuitively know what was going on, and so he brought in this picture. The first thing I told him was to stop labeling his kids. He’s written beneath them: “Yale,” “Architect,” “Attorney,” and so on, and everybody’s professional. So I asked him, “If you had a drug addict, a school dropout, and a mass murderer, would you write those details in?” He laughed and shook his head. “Don’t label your kids,” I told him.
As I looked over the drawing, it was fairly obvious which of his children he needed to talk to. I always say that being an attorney is a serious illness. One attorney told me, “While learning to think, I almost forgot how to feel.” And that’s what had happened to this doctor’s attorney child: he’s all in black, he isn’t touching anybody in the family, and I’m sure from this picture he had been living totally in his head. He needed contact with his family, and he needed encouragement to express his feelings. His dad was able to get in touch with him and help him work that out.
NATURE: A MIRROR OF OUR INTERNAL ENVIRONMENT
We perceive trees as symbols for human beings: for our families, our lives, and our bodies. When you draw a tree, usually the part of the tree beneath the ground — the roots — symbolizes your unconscious. It can also refer to your family’s roots. The tree’s trunk represents your body and what’s going on in your life; the top branches of the tree can represent the future and your growth and consciousness.
The tree in figure 28 is not centered over the roots; the artist may be disconnected from her family. The hole in the trunk suggests that something is eating a hole in her or in her life. I don’t think the creature depicted inside the hole represents a disease, but a person who is eating her up. Look at the confusion of the branches. There’s life, but where is it going? It’s a tangled mess. This artist needs to resolve a relationship with her family, so I would ask, “Who’s eating a hole in you?” It is possible that the object inside the trunk could be the patient herself — represented by a child in the womb of the tree. She needs to create her own authentic life and not live the life imposed on her by others. She needs to be born again as her true self.
This picture shows what we’re all here to do. Life is meant to be an opportunity for us to grow and blossom in a healthy way. This is such a beautiful picture, with the yellow energy in the background, the sunlight bathing the flower, and the healthy green, a sign of life. When children have cancer and are not doing well, the colors fade and become very light. But this picture shows a person who is blossoming, reaching up and out to all that is good in life.
When peoples’ arms are up, this can represent many different emotions. But look at this tree: it has thin, tangled branches, all drawn in emotional colors. The two figures are standing on the ground, so they do have some support beneath them; often people draw themselves floating in the air, with no support. The feet of these two point in opposite directions, indicating they really need to make up their minds, decide where they are going. It’s also hard to see anything that looks like a trunk on this tree; there’s only one very thin line. Their life together needs to be strengthened, brought into order. Neither person has been drawn with a nose, showing that their lives are uninspiring — they need to make a more vibrant life for themselves and not live on an island.
Birds almost always represent the people in your life. In this drawing, three birds are together in front of the moon and one is on its own. Birds in black may represent people who are causing you grief and despair or experiencing it themselves. The night sky has some color along with the black, but it is not a pleasant-looking sky. The ship is drawn in two emotional colors, black for grief or despair, and red, the emotional color, which could be love but in most cases represents pain or conflict. When the patient’s life journey (the boat) is black and red, I don’t get a very good feeling about his state. Also, who’s sailing it? Which way is it going? One of the lines goes over the sail, making it look stuck — almost as if in a whirlpool — and it’s tied to the horizon line. The purple water could signify some kind of spiritual journey, but the ship needs help, in the sense that it needs somebody to guide it and deal with the painful emotions of the journey this person is on. The little birds may be people in the artist’s life, but they don’t look as if they’re going to be very helpful. So this person must ask for help. When you need help, ask for it; that’s survival behavior.
The snow on the three mountains wasn’t drawn with white crayon, but still, snow is covering something, so I would ask the artist: Are three people, or three things in your life, getting in your way, and are you covering up your feelings about it? The sun is in the future quadrant, which gives a feeling of hope, but there are no rays (joy) coming down into the picture. The path travels from the recent past (the lower right) into the far future (the upper left) and becomes a little skinny, which will make it hard to stay on that path.
Just as there are three mountains, there are three big trees. One of these trees is alive; the other two look dead or dormant. If they represent people, then no one is nourishing them, and they, like that pathway, are beginning to die out. It’s as if their life force is fading. Even the fir trees have black trunks, which could symbolize their problems. Purple mountains are spiritual symbols, and a Christmas-type tree can be spiritual, too, but something has drained the life out of the two deciduous trees, which may represent a parent and child. I’d also ask the artist: Does the number five mean anything to you? The fence, with its five posts, stands in the quadrant of the picture that represents the past. At the base of each post stands some healthy green growth. There are also a few more trees standing in the past. But since all the evergreen trees are black at the base, even though they appear healthy otherwise, there’s conflict. I think something in the artist’s past that needs to grow is being held back by this fence, and the artist needs therapy to bring it out.
This drawing is another kind of rainbow, with red, yellow, orange, purple, and green, and it’s full of life. Even though the colors are not in rainbow order, the drawing has order — a balance — and it’s beautiful. The pitcher rests on a brown stand, a strong, earthy color, so it’s got support; the handle suggests you can get a grip on it, pick it up, and take it with you. You can fill this pitcher with water to sustain the flowers. This drawing gives me a good feeling about the person’s life. I would ask the artist: “Why are there four yellow flowers, two purples, and so on?” or “Why are there eight flowers?” If the number eight doesn’t apply to anything specific to the artist, it can mean that there is a new beginning, or that one is coming soon.
My wife, Bobbie, drew this outdoor scene with five trees at the top of the page. We have five children, and at the time she drew this, one of our kids was causing us a problem. He was the one who stands out of line. I was trying to get him to go off to college and not simply hang around the house complaining all the time. He’s a bright kid with a lot of energy, but he found school boring. When he was younger, and my wife and I were away on vacation, he would hide in the closet and read books all day instead of going to school. So I was trying to get him to go out and study something of interest.
When Bobbie drew this, two of our children were away and three were at home. But look at the bottom of the picture, where there are seven flowers (representing all of us). On the bottom left are the twins, my wife, and me. The third flower has gone to the other side of the cattails, so this told me he was going to leave home, which eliminated the pressure completely. There were six cattails. Six weeks from the day of this drawing, our son got in his car, drove to Denver, and joined his brother at school there. This picture still impresses me, and we keep it hanging in our house.
SELF-IMAGE: SEEING HOW SELF-WORTH AFFECTS OUR BODIES
This young woman was admitted to the hospital because she was literally starving herself to death. Everybody there was angry at her and demanded to know why she was doing this. And they were treating her rudely. So I went in and said, “Honey, draw me a picture,” and she drew this. I took it out to everybody and told them, “Look, this is a picture of herself. Do you understand the problem she is dealing with now? Her image of herself is that of a pregnant-looking, obese woman.” When they realized how she saw herself, they all calmed down and began treating her differently.
What I like about the drawing is that both feet are headed toward the east. I knew that, with therapy, she was heading in the right direction, and that because they weren’t pointing opposite ways, she was not confused or conflicted. She needed bigger fingers, so she could get a grip on things. The four buttons may have meant something to her. She was beginning to find herself, symbolized by her sticking her neck out a little. Having only dots for a nose suggests she needed to find something that would inspire her, and if she did, she would develop into a whole person, which would be shown by the use of color rather than black lines. Without self-love, you cannot see your true self in the mirror and accept yourself as worth loving; you see only what’s wrong.
What is interesting about this girl’s picture is her arms: she’s got hands, but they are tied down where the line of her dress goes over the arms. She’s got all the parts, including eyes, nose, and mouth, and she fills the page, which says something positive about her self-esteem when compared to the small self-portrait drawn by the anorexic woman. But I want to ask her, “What has tied you down? What do you need to reach out for?” Her arms are brown and her face is white; it could be that coloring her arms dark reveals her difficulty in reaching out and doing what she needs to do. She’s a white person with brown arms. It’s as if she’s afraid of being judged. Her feet are not pointed in the same direction, indicating a little indecision. Perhaps she’s been criticized by others, who have told her, “You shouldn’t do that.”
You give somebody a box of crayons, and look what she does with it. Except for the red eyes and mouth, the figure is drawn in all black. She has eyes, a nose, and a mouth, but no ears, hands, or feet. This speaks of her depression. At least she didn’t draw a smile on her face and deny her feelings — most people who are totally depressed still show themselves with a big grin. Also, the line is darker over the shoulders, so she’s carrying a burden. I would ask her, “What is going on?” She has depicted herself as having nothing to remedy the situation with; she’s feeling helpless. She needs help with learning how to reach out; how to grow some feet, move around, and do what needs to be done. Her belt is almost too tight, as if signaling that something in her life is constricting her. She has to learn to listen to her feelings the same way we respond to hunger and seek the nourishment we need.
FIGURES 38 AND 39
Figure 38 was drawn on the folded-in sides of a sheet of paper, so that the person you see here opens up like a book. The colors of the outer image are healthy and have energy, but the person’s hands are mostly tucked in (the artist can’t “handle” what she’s facing), and the feet are turned in opposite directions (she’s indecisive). The shoulders are wide, as if she is carrying a burden by herself. The image fills the page, so her self-esteem is good. When I asked the artist why she had folded the page, she opened it. Now see what’s inside: In figure 39, her body is depersonalized. The artist is shown getting chemotherapy, which is yellow (representing energy), and it’s going straight to the tumor, a good thing (fewer side effects). But look at her — she doesn’t have a head, doesn’t have hands, her feet are aimed in opposite directions, and her body is red, so I’d say she’s feeling totally helpless and doesn’t know what to do. Somebody else prescribed the treatment, and she thinks she has to go through with it.
Her treatment should be the result of her own decision and not about the doctor prescribing it. Yet she has hidden her misgivings under the folded page. I recommended that the patient either quit the treatment or change her attitude toward it. If you’re going through hell, speak up; don’t hide it from people. Take care of yourself and ask others to support you. What she needed to do was to empower herself and do the treatment only because it was her choice, not someone else’s. That way she would have far fewer problems. Ten times a day for three or four minutes, she should visualize herself getting treatment, having a beautiful result with no side effects, and going home rejuvenated and healthy. When you feel helpless, or feel as if you’re being poisoned by your treatment, you create the worst possible result.
I was watching something on public TV in which a psychologist discussed a research project that involved volunteers undergoing a functional brain scan that registers brain activity as it happens. In each trial they would hold up a hand in front of the person and watch which parts of the brain registered activity on the monitor. When the hand was taken away, the activity stopped in those areas. The psychologist noted that if you took the hand away and said to the person, “Close your eyes and imagine a hand,” the brain on the imaging screen would light up in the same areas as before, showing the same activity, just as if the person were looking at an actual hand. So when you picture yourself getting treatment and doing well, it’s as if you are. It makes an enormous difference.
That’s me. Look at how big the shoulders are. I’m taking on too much, if you know what I mean. But I filled the page, which means my self-esteem is good; the colors are natural colors. I’ve got all the necessary parts — nose, mouth, eyes, and ears. It’s a genuine smile, not a deceptive one. I’ve got four buttons on my shirt— to me that might be a number symbolizing completeness. My feet are on the ground. Even when you know what you’re drawing, it’s amazing how little details sneak in. If you look like you’ve got more muscles than in reality, you’re trying to be the strong one and are not giving yourself the same good care that you give other people. I shouldn’t do so much; I need to take care of myself and take it easy. Then if I drew another picture, it might be a little less muscular but healthier.
In contrast to the previous drawing, consider this image drawn by our neighbor’s son, who was depressed. The boy’s body doesn’t fill the picture; he’s a speck on the page, and he’s depicted himself all in black, the goalie on a hockey team. What does he have to face? A goalie has to put up with everybody shooting hard black objects at him. The symbolism contained in that image is so clear, with the blackness of depression, the small self-image — and the way he holds his stick suggests he’s expecting more troubles to come at him. This kid really needed help.
FIGURES 42 AND 43
This boy came into my office and drew a picture of himself that filled the page. Because of the purple, I could see that he’s a spiritual guy, but in his picture he has no legs (fig. 42). I didn’t notice that he’d written the word over on it. So I said, “What’s the matter? You don’t have legs. Are you feeling stuck or trapped?” And he said, “Turn the page over.” On the other side of the paper, there he is with support under his feet (fig. 43). I fill one page when I draw myself, but this guy needs two pages. There’s no need to worry about his self-esteem. If he takes two pages and has support, he’ll make it. This drawing tells me he’s doing okay.
This boy said, “Doctor Siegel, the kids are teasing me in the locker room at my school, and I want you to circumcise me so they stop making fun of me.” I told him, “Draw a picture of yourself in the operating room,” and handed him a whole box of crayons, with black, white, brown, and every color of the rainbow. What did he do but pull out a black crayon, write “Me” in black, and draw a black insect on the operating table. Then he wrote above it: “The reason I drew this picture is because I’m tired.” I knew that wasn’t why he drew this picture; it was how he felt about himself. If he had felt he was a beautiful child and was loved, he could have drawn himself as a beautiful young man who did or did not want a circumcision. I said, “Okay, you don’t want kids to tease you? We can go ahead with the circumcision.” But I showed the picture to his parents and told them, “I’ll go ahead with the circumcision to help him, but he can spend his life seeing plastic surgeons and never feel beautiful when he looks in the mirror. What he needs most is your love.”
I saw the same thing among personal health trainers at a convention. I asked them, “What should I hang up in the lobby of every public building to convey the message: ‘Look at how beautiful and meaningful life is’?” They yelled out things like: “Butterflies!” “Rainbows!” “Baby pictures!” — until I said, “No, you hang up a mirror.” When the first thought in your mind is a mirror, it signifies total acceptance and love of self. When we accept ourselves as God’s creation, seeing beauty and meaning in what we are, just as we are, we accept others as God’s creation too. Children find self-worth initially through their parents’ love and acceptance; once they have that, they don’t have to worry about how they look — about what their friends say and what the neighbors think. If they experience indifference and rejection from their parents, it can be disastrous.
This drawing was done by a reporter who interviewed me. When she drew a clock with only one hand, pointing to twelve, I realized her unconscious was demanding that she pay attention to a past traumatic experience, one that she needed therapeutic help to heal.
I show this picture at lectures and ask people, “Who do you think would produce detailed written instructions on how to draw a picture, when all I have asked the person to do is draw a picture?” When I say, “It was a male engineer,” everybody laughs. He wrote at the top: “I have difficulty drawing.” What’s he worried about? It wasn’t an art class; he wasn’t getting graded. He didn’t simply add a few words to label things, as some people do, but wrote a whole page of instructions. He was trying to control everything in his life by using his head. What is interesting is that this event still made an enormous difference to him, because I told him, “You’re living in your head, not your feelings. The engineer part of you is having trouble with relationships; and just as lawyers do, you’re thinking and measuring, not using your heart.” That really struck him.
About fifteen years later, I showed this slide during a lecture at Yale, and afterward a man from the audience came to me and said, “That’s my father’s handwriting. When you told him he was relying entirely on his intellect, and not feeling his emotions, it changed him. It made such a difference for him and helped him survive his cancer.” So I made a print of it and gave it to the son.
Some people are so afraid of drawing that they’ll get their kid to do the drawing for them. I’ll say to them, “You’re fighting cancer and you’re afraid to do a drawing?” One ten-year-old boy drew his mother’s picture for her, giving it a big head and a fake smile. So he understood — she was living in her head, out of touch with her feelings.
TREATMENT: HOW WE PERCEIVE AFFECTS HOW WE EXPERIENCE
This artist had a sense of humor that helped her survive. Here she has drawn herself getting chemotherapy, and she shows it flowing to all parts of her body — so she’s unconsciously setting herself up to have plenty of side effects. She’s attached to the pump that delivers the intravenous therapy over the course of an entire day and evening, one of several sessions that would happen over a period of months. She told me, “I’m tired of dragging this thing around.” She really was ready to quit and die. So I looked at her and said, “You know, you’re the Draggin’ Lady” — a play on the name Dragon Lady — and she burst out laughing. Dragons became her symbols for her white blood cells during visualization sessions, and she did remarkably well from that moment on. She had no trouble with the treatment or anything else, because she became the Dragon Lady.
Doctors could benefit from learning psychological techniques for dealing with people, such as the play on words I used to entertain and energize the “Dragon Lady.” I also use a technique I call Paradox, in which I do the opposite of what a patient may expect me to do. For example, when somebody comes in and says, “They told me I have a week to live,” I say, “It looks to me like a couple of days.” The patient will look at me, shocked, and then get it; I’m only teasing. What I’ve said is so outrageous that the patient bursts out laughing. Then we begin to talk, and the tension is gone. Using Paradox helps to shift the patient’s thinking to something more positive, which in turn affects their experience of treatment. The resulting outcome will be more life enhancing, so I frequently deceive people into health.
The following drawings show two patients’ different emotional responses to their treatments. These clearly illustrate why positive attitudes can play an important role in healing.
Here’s somebody getting a bone marrow transplant, and it looks like it’s happening in a prison. The window admits no sunshine, and there’s nothing nice outside. The nurses are stick figures with no hands, and they aren’t touching the patient. The patient has only one arm and no eyes, ears, or nose, and so no way to express herself. She’s simply lying on a table as an enormous needle comes at her. This looks like a nightmare, not a healing therapy. A person who does a drawing like this needs to go home and visualize the treatment in a different way, as something therapeutic, until she can see it working to her benefit. I have a CD called Getting Ready that helps people “reprogram” themselves by means of guided visualization. I would have recommended it to this patient, because it would have entirely altered her response to and the outcome of her treatment. Now, let’s compare it to the next picture, figure 49.
This is the scene of a bone marrow transplant, and that’s God’s hand supporting the patient. The IV is running; the doctor is in the room. The doctor would normally have a cap, mask, and gown on, yet in this picture he doesn’t, and he’s touching her, not with a stethoscope, but with his hand — as a human being — and he’s smiling. Although the picture has faded with age, you can still see the rainbow of life in the room with her, symbolized by the colors on the chair. It looks as if she’s on a cruise vacation, not having a difficult procedure in hospital. There’s light shining down on her; the door is red, an emotional color, which indicates that it’s her doorway back to life. In one window stands the tree of life, a healthy-looking tree. Her family is waiting for her at the other window. She’s got the CD player for her visualization therapy and everything in the room that she needs. I don’t worry about a patient like this. Studies reveal that people who draw this kind of picture and have this psychological perspective have a better survival rate than people who draw negative-looking pictures.
This woman wrote “Help” on her belly after taking my advice to patients who are going into the hospital. I always tell them to bring a Siegel Kit. It has a felt-tip marker, a noisemaker, and a water gun. The felt-tip marker is for writing “Cut here” and “Not this one, stupid.” One woman wrote just above her pubic hair: “Don’t mow the lawn.” With patient humor like this, everybody in the operating room laughs and becomes family. The noisemaker can save lives. One woman was choking on her food in the hospital, and when she pushed the call button, no one responded. She told me later: “If I hadn’t had a roommate, I’d be dead.” The water gun is to drench those who disturb your privacy for no good reason.
Purple is a spiritual color, and although the use of purple can suggest a person is dying, I don’t think the color of this patient’s chemotherapy indicates that she believes it’s going to kill her. I think she sees that it can heal her. The red spots on her body — an emotional color — signify the cancer. The fewer white spots among them, which are practically invisible, are her white cells. This patient’s perception of herself as a stick figure is not very empowering. She has drawn herself in black and is honest enough to show that she is unhappy. But because nobody is shown administering the chemotherapy, and because she has colored it purple, she appears to feel the treatment is more of a gift from God. Her feet are turned toward it, showing that her intuition believes it will be helpful to her.
As far as treatment is concerned, I would say to her, “Yes, go ahead and give it a try because of the way you look in this drawing, the color of the treatment, and the direction of your feet.” I would also point out to her that the cancer appears at multiple sites and is red, showing that it is creating an emotional issue in her life. How people visualize themselves matters: if they show a thousand cancer cells and few white cells, then what’s going on in their bodies will match this. I would recommend to this patient that she change her image of, and belief about, herself.
This woman’s chemotherapy is delivered with a black syringe, and she’s not allowing it into her body. Her eyes and mouth are black, and the cancer spots look purple, and in this case the purple appears to represent death. Her message seems to be: “This is going to kill me. My disease is going to turn me into a spirit.” She doesn’t have a nose for inspiration, so she cannot breathe life in, which suggests she feels her treatment is not life enhancing. One foot is turned to her right, the west, the place of darkness, and her shoes are black.
She also looks as if she’s fading away: her upper body is light pink (suggesting covered-up emotion and pain), and she’s showing her mastectomy scars. Susan Bach notes that sick children may initially draw outdoor scenes in healthy, vivid colors like green, and then, over time, the color in their next drawings may become lighter and lighter, sometimes because the artists apply less pressure to the page; sometimes because they choose paler shades. When this happens, says Bach, it indicates that the light of life is fading, is leaving them. Similarly, the picture this woman has drawn does not bode well for her future.
This dramatic drawing has a lot of color. Since the patient has left her feet out of the picture, I’d say she was feeling stuck at the time she drew it. And she was stuck, because she was about sixteen years old and her parents had taken her power away. They had made her get chemotherapy against her will, until finally she refused to continue. When they brought her to my office, they wanted me to convince their daughter to take further treatment. I asked her to draw me a picture. When I saw the words I hate you, I asked whether that meant she hated cancer. She said, “No, I don’t hate the cancer; the cancer is going through the same hell I’m going through. It’s crying and saying, ‘Help me.’ ”
What a statement; she was feeling sorry for the cancer! Who did she want to stick the spear into, then? “I want to stick it into my doctor,” she told me. “He made my bald, ugly head and my horrible knee.” So her anger was focused on the doctors. I don’t know how her case concluded, but at least the parents gained a better understanding of where she was coming from. I suggested they give their daughter back her power and let her decide what to do.
The word patient is derived from a word meaning “submissive sufferer.” This implies that if you’re a “good” patient, you’ll endure suffering, surgery, and deformation of the body, plus any complications that happen, all without expressing anger. And perhaps you’ll die on a schedule that pleases everyone, or die from medical decisions made by professionals who do not know you as a person and give you the wrong treatment.
I tell people not to be good patients, but to be respants instead. What is a respant? It means you are a “responsible participant.” You take responsibility for your treatment. The doctor may prescribe something, but you are the one who decides whether to do it. And when you make decisions, you don’t judge yourself as a failure if the result is not the one you were hoping for. The way I put it is: Are you trying not to die, or to do what is right for you?
Most people go through difficult procedures in the hope they will not die, or will live longer, but some are more concerned about the quality of life and will choose a treatment that they can live with, even if it means they may not live as long. A respant decides what is right for him; and if it doesn’t work, he doesn’t get mad at himself, thinking he’s a failure. When people say, “I don’t want to die,” I tell them “then do everything your doctor recommends; if it doesn’t work, at least you won’t feel guilty for not trying.”
The teenage boy in this picture is lying on his hospital bed getting chemotherapy. I think he probably feels it is good for him, because he has colored it orange, the color that signifies change. But he’s not letting it flow into his body; it stops at his wrist. Under the bed is a vomit basin for the side effects he anticipates. The IV pole is black, and he’s outlined himself in black, so he’s feeling a lot of grief about the cancer. The window is black too, but there are blue clouds (life energy) in the window, and the blue clouds are a good sign. His clothing is blue, as well, although that may simply be the color of the hospital gown, in which case it has no significance. The yellow of the mattress he’s lying on is a positive color if it relates to his treatment.
The thing that troubles me is the doorway on the right: what the boy needs is company. The family decided he should have chemotherapy, and he went to the hospital to get it. But where’s the family? They’re not there to support him. He’s lying there all by himself, suffering the consequences of their decision without their presence and love.
Try this experiment: Put your hand in a bucket of ice while sitting alone in the bathroom. Keep track of the elapsing time. Write down how long it takes before it becomes too painful and you have to pull your hand out of the ice. Then take the bucket of ice into the living room and get your whole family and all your pets to sit around you. Put your hand back in the bucket of ice, and watch how much longer you can tolerate it when surrounded by the people who love you. This neatly illustrates how important love and company are to people who are struggling to become well.
FIGURES 55 AND 56
This woman drew herself in a box that has a strap to hold her head still while the radiation is directed to her tumor (fig. 55). The line forming one side of the bed goes over her foot, so she can’t get out. Symbolically she’s boxed in, and the fact that she has no fingers in the drawing suggests she’s not getting a grip on things. She doesn’t have a nose, implying her lack of inspiration about the treatment. A similar lack of emotional support and nourishment is suggested by her technicians, who also lack noses and are standing on the other side of the window, completely separated from her.
In figure 56, the radiation rays are red and black, two strong emotional colors, so she is going to have a lot of reaction to the treatment. Notice that she has aimed the treatment not only at the tumor, which is depicted as a large black spot on her jaw, but also at her shoulder, neck, and face. One nice thing is that the black tumor cells are surrounded by her immune system, which is a nurturing earth color. This brown area looks almost as if it’s made up of bricks or marbles that are blocking the tumor off and confining it to that area. This is a helpful approach, but nevertheless I think she’s going to have innumerable side effects where the arrows are pointing because of her attitude toward it.
Here the patient is lying on the operating table; his cardiogram is on the wall, and he has two intravenous lines attached to him. The green sheet draping over him is a healthy color, but no one is there to take care of the guy. It looks as if he died and somebody covered his dead body. Most likely this patient is fearful about going into the operating room, because he’s displaying his cardiogram and it’s black. The cardiogram may suggest that he feels nobody is watching over him, and that his heart may stop as a result, and so he’s scared to death.
In this drawing, you see the opposite of fear. What a difference. Because she feels that love and God are in the operating room, this woman is not going to have any trouble. The table is sunshine yellow, and rays of life-giving energy surround her. The surgeon is not wearing a mask and gown or gloves — he’s there for her as a person, touching her, relating to her as a human being. The surgeon has a rainbow over his head and the patient is imagining a flower; each of these is connected to the person by four bubbles. Four is the number for completeness or wholeness; it may also mean something personal to the artist. Three hearts and three purple musical notes dance in the air. Three could refer to the Trinity. There are twelve flowers, which may signify a period of time, people, or some other personal meaning. It’s just beautiful. This is all peaceful, healing imagery. I would not worry about this patient at all.
This man is hiding his hands and has no feet; he’s cut off. How can he help himself — how can he reach out to do what he needs to do? It’s nice that his shoulders are rounded, because problems will slide off. The man shows two big scars on his chest and yet thinks of the disease as being outside his body, as if he can’t do anything about it. He has eyes, nose, ear, and a mouth, but if you have drawn your disease outside your body, it says you haven’t accepted the reality of it, or the responsibility for dealing with it, so how can you have an effect on it?
His intuitive wisdom is telling us what is going on in his body. Here the black cells are cancer cells, the treatment is red, and his white cells are like yellow Pac-Men. One cancer cell at the bottom is not affected by the treatment, so I’d say that 80 percent of the cancer is being addressed by the treatment and by his immune system.
Using the same metaphors he chose for his drawing, I would say to him, “Get your hands out, get your feet going, and accept the disease as being in your body.” Acceptance doesn’t mean he’s facing a bad outcome; it’s about realizing: “Okay, this has happened, and I need to participate in what’s going on, not just stand there.” We’ve got to get him to improve the imagery in his visualization sessions and to see 100 percent of his cancer being affected.
This man has used horses to represent his white cells. I’d say to him, “Don’t limit yourself to seven horses; use a hundred or more.” (One woman used popcorn — that’s a good image. The kernels have high energy and seemingly endless numbers, and as they pop open they can smother the cancer cells.) In this drawing the chemotherapy drug is not affecting all of the man’s cancer cells. I’d ask him to visualize it so that all the cancer cells are under attack, and I’d suggest that he visualize this happening inside the body.
FAMILY: THE FIRST SUPPORT SYSTEM
A tree is symbolic of the family or of a person. The trunk represents the body; the upper part of a tree signifies consciousness, and the roots are what’s beneath the surface — the past and the unconscious. Here, all you see is the body portion of the tree, and there’s a hole in the heart of it. The picture was drawn in pencil, with no color, leaving out emotions and life. When the members of a family aren’t communicating, all the life goes out of the family. The father has his hands in his pockets. The daughter is reaching out to the mother, but the mother is not reciprocating, and no one is touching the boy. They need to communicate, support each other, and talk about their feelings.
Look at the sofa. Even though there’s an empty seat there, this child is sitting by herself. She drew herself in purple, so I knew she was telling me: “I am going to die of my disease. I’m going to become a spirit.” I showed this picture to the parents, and it had a profound impact on the whole family. A year or so after she died, they called me and said, “Thank you for your help with that drawing, because we devoted a lot more time to her. We had a wonderful relationship with her and healed all our lives before she died.” So the process of her dying was not just about losing or failing but instead brought them a sense of fulfillment, and it meant a great deal to them that their daughter could die feeling so loved.
The black roof on this house could be the actual color, or it could signify the artist’s emotional issues. Before you interpret a drawing like this one, it’s important to ask, “What color is the roof of the house you live in?” I once had a patient draw a red house and black car. As it turned out, these two emotional colors signaled that her husband was an alcoholic who smoked in the house and drove while intoxicated, making it dangerous for her to be in the house or car with him. Here, two individuals are sitting together in front of the house, and it’s obvious that there’s room for both of them in it. There’s also a dog and flowers, and the entire page is filled in. When people fill in their pictures, it says that their lives are full. The chimneys give the hot air an easy escape from this house. When these two people have a problem, they’re going to resolve it. It’s not going to build up pressure and destroy their home life.
The butterfly is a symbol of transformation, so change is going on in the lives of the people in this drawing. This butterfly is purple, but it’s not flying in the upper left corner, where the death concept is represented. And the drawing is not a tragic picture, so I don’t see it as predictive of death. Since the butterfly occupies the middle right (the present), I see it as a symbol of spiritual transformation and change — it relates to what is happening in the family now. Above them is a rainbow with the colors in proper order, so it expresses the idea of order in this family’s life and a sense of wholeness. They are touching each other, and there’s color everywhere; the picture is full of life. The four flowers could represent the people. Three flowers are closer together and one stands a little farther away, like the little boy, but you get the feeling of energy, growth, and healthy relationships, and so it feels good to look at the picture.
The number seven appears in the center of this picture, so it could be the age of the person who drew it. There are many rays of sunshine in the upper right quadrant, representing the present, the here and now, which could relate to the artist’s life in general, people in her life, and so forth. She has included four clouds, but they’re blue — a positive, healthy color — not black. There are also three waves. It would be useful to talk with her about all those numbers. What’s particularly interesting is that the four clouds and three waves add up to seven, so I’d ask her about this as well. The number seven, which is also the number of days in a week, could be about the artist’s life situation and what the change is creating. This picture was drawn by an adopted child, and I would point out to the family: “She shows that you’re in the same boat, but you are at opposite ends of the boat. The arms of each person are reaching out, but they’re not touching the other person, and she needs you to be closer to her.”
FIGURES 66 AND 67
These were drawn by a doctor friend after an auto accident that she was lucky to survive. Her car had gone off the road, and fortunately somebody noticed it, found her, and rescued her. But she became paraplegic as a result of the accident. In figure 66, where she’s alone, you see her on a path curving downhill. There’s still some sunshine in her life, but there are also clouds with some emotion in them — she’s added a little red to them. They are not black clouds, however, and she wears a smile, an honest one. But she has a big black hole in her heart — that’s her wound: her paralysis. Imagine — she was going to be a doctor, and look what happened to her while she was in medical school. She found it hard to get the school to accept her back, because of her paraplegia.
In the picture she drew of herself with her boyfriend (fig. 67), she’s whole. As I mentioned before, when loved ones are around, pain and problems of all kinds diminish. Her path is not going downhill anymore and now it’s green. When somebody loves you, your path in life becomes a healing one; it becomes a different story when you’re together. She feels complete again; she’s standing. They’re looking at each other and holding hands. The four flowers could be other people, or they might represent time, possibly the number of years before she completes her medical training.
This was drawn by a nun. She’s the person on the far left, the one with the cancer. She said, “I need more help from my family,” and then she handed this picture to me. I pointed out that her family has a genetic defect: their arms and hands are fixed to their bodies. The blue dress of the woman in the middle has lines crossing her hands, so they’re tied down and she can’t use them. The hands of the others are tucked in pockets or stuck to their sides. Nobody’s really touching, although the brothers are brushing against each other. The third brother from the right is stepping on another brother’s toes. Things like that sneak into the drawings, and they are not accidental. There is something going on between those two guys — given the symbolism of one stepping on the other’s toes and the way their bodies are situated. The two are signaling that they are just not open to each other.
At the bottom, “My family” is written in a reddish color, though faint, showing that passion and affection just aren’t there. I told my patient she would have to reach out and ask for help. That’s survival behavior. If this patient is being too nice to ask her family for help, she’s hurting herself. She must get help from them or turn to another resource.
I’m sure this was drawn by one of our kids. When he drew me, one of my arms was longer than the other from carrying my briefcase; I was always off to the hospital doing something, and he is expressing emotion about that. Bobbie has a black outfit but it doesn’t represent illness; it’s what she was wearing when she posed for this picture. Stephen went to law school eventually, but first he went to automotive and diesel school and was always rebuilding cars, so that’s a mechanic’s tool in his hands. Family members are all touching each other. Keith (on the right) has really long arms, so it could be that he’s needier or is reaching out for things. But here, too, look at the broad shoulders on him, which signal that a person is taking on too much. Carolyn (in a blue sweater) and Keith are twins; in the back are John (with glasses) and Jeffrey. The trees in the background look healthy.
Encouraging your kids to make drawings is a great way to open discussion about things they feel uncomfortable talking about. When these things show up in the pictures, the kids can discuss them. When I’d visit the school on parent days, my kids’ teachers were often amazed that I could look at the other students’ drawings and tell them about the children’s families. I might see that the family was undergoing divorce, illness, or one of many other different things, and the teachers would ask, “How do you know that?” I’d say, “It’s in the picture.”
Our kids learned to use drawings as life tools. They were aware that I knew a lot about drawings, so if they were trying to make a decision about something and drew a picture about it, and I walked into the room, they had no problem asking for my help. But if they were working on a drawing about something personal and I walked in, they’d cover it with an object or slump over to hide it. They didn’t want me interpreting those drawings and worrying about them or prying into their private lives.
Wanting to make a decision about whether to remain where she was living or to move closer to her family prompted this drawing. What do you think she decided?
DOCTOR’S 
FOR PARENTS AND OTHER FAMILY MEMBERS
Put out some white paper and a box of crayons, and then ask your kids to draw a self-portrait, followed by a family picture, for you to display on the refrigerator. Don’t tell them these are for you to analyze. You will be amazed to see how your kids talk to you through their drawings. Use the drawings as another way of getting closer to a family member and helping to heal family wounds through your new insights. When family members have a decision to make, you can then tell them to draw their various choices to help give them insights into which choice is best for them — whether the decision is about which treatment is best, where to go to college, who to marry, where to live, or something else.