As a child, my ambition in life was to become a writer, a life goal I quickly gave up when I got to college and began to see what it might actually entail in terms of blood, sweat, and tears. The invitation to write this book for Routledge gave that young part of me satisfaction in finally becoming an author, but I must confess that the process was just as difficult as other parts told me it would be decades ago!
The inspiration behind the ideas presented in this book comes directly from my patients who, over the years, taught me everything I understand today about the impact of trauma from “inside the volcano.” They helped me to understand the experience of living with the enduring threat of annihilation, of hating themselves when they could not risk hating those who harmed them. They helped me to see that the deepest pain of all is connected to the failure of those they loved to cherish them and, for that reason, provide them safety and care. No arms reached out to break their fall, dry their tears, or comfort the ache of loneliness. There was no balm for the shame. When I finally understood that, to find peace, they needed a way to love the wounded children inside them, an insight came to me: it is the quality of our internal attachments that determines how safe we feel “inside,” how easy or difficult it is to be “me.” When we ignore, despise, or disown out littlest selves, we can’t help but feel their pain: once again, they are not welcome. And when we learn how to offer them and ourselves an unconditionally “loving presence,” wounds can heal and hope is renewed.
To get from an idea to a finished manuscript, though, takes a cast of thousands, to all of whom I am indebted. I would not have written a book at all if it were not for my longtime friends and chosen family, Stephanie Ross, and Deborah Spragg, who first had the thought, “You should write a book!” And then never, ever let me forget it—for years. They became a Greek chorus that would not stop reminding me of what I “had” to do. Thank goodness for the wind at my back!
Every new writer also needs guides who have traveled the same journey and know the way. My dear friend, Lisa Ferentz, would not let me off the hook either, encouraging and supporting me over years now. Having already published her first two books, Lisa was not only my cheerleader but could give me wise advice, emotional “chicken soup,” and a map to guide me along the way.
Thanks to Bessel van der Kolk, my friend and mentor, I have been able to fulfill a professional mission first inspired when I heard Judith Herman speak about trauma 27 years ago. In that moment, my course was set. I am eternally grateful for my years as a supervisor and instructor at Bessel’s Trauma Center, for the opportunity to learn from him as he led the neurobiological revolution in psychotherapy, and for his mentoring of my teaching and writing career. The understanding of trauma described in this book comes directly from his contributions to the field and is inspired by his belief that “the body keeps the score.”
My thanks, too, to Pat Ogden for her friendship, professional and personal support, and for the gift of Sensorimotor Psychotherapy. From Pat, I have learned how to use the resources of the body as a vehicle for communication that goes “beyond words.” The therapist’s own self is always the instrument in psychotherapy, and it behooves us to learn how to use our own internal states, body language, and tone of voice (the way mothers do with babies) to induce states of comfort, curiosity, and excitement that transform the client’s state of distress. I also want to thank my Sensorimotor Institute “family” for their support—even when this book meant that I didn’t have time for them!
I have appreciated Dick Schwartz’s generosity and supportive presence since we first met as faculty at Bessel van der Kolk’s annual trauma conference, and my gratitude for his IFS model goes back even further. When I discovered IFS 20 years ago, I was overwhelmed by the responsibility for a caseload of clients with dissociative disorders—all of whom were in crisis. The discovery of Dick’s concept of “self”-leadership allowed me to step back and allow the inherent strengths in each of them to come to the rescue. In this field, experts and founders can be territorial and self-protective. But Dick is welcoming of all parts of each person he encounters, and I thank him for trusting me to honor his work—as I hope I have done with the affection and respect he has earned.
I am blessed also to have a family of colleagues around the world who have sent me their support, implored me to finish the book (at least for their sakes), or given me feedback when I’ve needed it. I want to thank Licia Sky, Carol Japha, Gil Levin, Benjamin Fry, and Sally LoGrasso for their willingness to read chapters in progress. Their insightful suggestions and encouragement helped enormously. In Norway, I am grateful to my dear friends, Kirsten Benum and Trine Anstorp, who always inspire me to dream bigger and then ply me with food and wine to entice me into our next project! In the United Kingdom, Benjamin Fry has given me the opportunity to translate my vision of “trauma treatment” into the ongoing work of Khiron House’s clinical programs, while the uniquely talented staff inspire me in a different way: by speaking on behalf of the complex needs of their traumatized clients. In Italy, Giovanni Tagliavini and Paola Boldrini have generously offered me a stage from which to share my work. Their equally passionate devotion to serving the needs of traumatized clients (and their parts) makes them “family.” A special thanks to Giovanni for his offer to translate this book into Italian, and thanks to Julian Baillet for offering to do the French translation. In Spain, I have “true believers” in this way of working, Dolores Mosquera and Esther Perez, whose encouragement was important to remember each time I questioned what I was doing. Thanks, too, to my wonderful UK colleagues and friends: Catherine Cox, Helen-Jane Ridgeway, Sally-Anne Bubbers, Linda Beton, and Liz Hall, among others. In Boston, my dear friend, Lana Epstein, contributed the gift of laughter—endless laughter—the perfect antidote to the stress of an author’s journey. In New York, I want to give special thanks to Ken Frank, Sandy Shapiro, and Ken’s study group for their enthusiastic reading of early chapters. I’ve found that a writer needs every crumb of that enthusiasm to keep going through such a long, often agonizing process.
My gratitude, too, to Dan Brockett, Steve Pierce, and the dedicated State of Connecticut Young Adult Services staff who participated in “test-driving” this model with their very traumatized, high-risk clients. The response we got from our clients affirmed that even severely suicidal and self-harming clients could benefit from understanding their fragmentation and learning to work with it.
There are so many more friends and colleagues and fellow travelers that I could thank, and I hope you will consider yourself thanked even if I have neglected to mention you by name.
Last, but surely not least, I want to thank my children and grandchildren for their love, support, and patience. No one can appreciate what they have sacrificed for “the book”: weekends, evenings, vacations, outings, family dinners—for months at a time. On top of that, they have had to be supportive! And they have been. To Jadu, Jason and Kelli, Ruby, and Nika, I am so grateful! I don’t know what I would do without your smiling faces and the best hugs ever. You have my heartfelt love and gratitude.