How far can you run from your own mind? – Page 10 – Inside The Mind of a Psychiatrist

Years ago, I invited a colleague to join my family for dinner. After dessert, our six-year-old daughter started acting like a six-year-old. She became loud, mushed the last of her ice cream, and then slipped under the table and started crawling around like a little puppy. At first we all laughed, then my wife and I told her to stop. When she wouldn’t, I kept my voice calm, and tried reasoning with her.

Like most attempts at reasoning with a six-year-old, this attempt was also fruitless. The more I tried to reason, the wilder she became. Embarrassed, I glanced at my friend, a child psychiatrist, who said, “Art, pretend I’m not here. Do what you’d normally do.”

With that, I reached under the table and lifted my wriggling, cute, athletic daughter up into my arms. “It’s bedtime,” I said. “In fact, way past your bedtime.” I carried her into the bedroom, helped her into her pajamas, and tucked her in. Minutes later, she ran back into the dining room and dived under the table. I snatched her before she got all the way underneath. “I am finished with this out-of-control behavior!” I yelled. “You behave yourself! Do you hear me!” I stormed back into the bedroom, put her in bed, and stalked back to the dining room.

I sat down at the table and tried to calm myself. Just as I took a sip of coffee, my little demon was back! Before I had a chance to say anything, she put her hand on her hip, posed like a movie star and said, “And you call yourself a psychiatrist.” Then she pivoted, perfectly in character, and ran back in the bedroom — not to emerge again.

It took a few seconds of shock before we all started laughing hysterically. The story has become part of our family lore. Why tell this story? What does it all mean?

Our children learn by what we do, not by what we say. Both my wife and I are pretty outspoken. My little pipsqueak never had a problem saying what was on her mind, and as a grown woman she still doesn’t.

It’s sometimes a fine line between setting limits and encouraging independence. Both are essential and a parent walks that line every day. That evening I wasn’t tolerant of my daughter and set reasonable limits. Interestingly, she found a way to also put me in my place and bring me down to size. In my mind it was a fair trade. Mutual respect was established.

Thanks

Do you remember the kid’s game, Would you rather? Would you rather have pins in your eyes or your ears? Would you rather eat only hotdogs or only ice cream for a week? And on and on…

What came to mind is the true story of a grade school friend, I’ll call him Donald, who was charged with medicare fraud. Donald was a GP and sentenced to 6 months in a federal prison. The prison happened to be located on the same air force base in Florida, where I was stationed as a major (a psychiatrist) during the Viet Nam era. That’s important, because I have first-hand knowledge that this base, located on the Florida panhandle, was really a beautiful place, with views of the gulf and powdered sugar beaches.

One “interesting” experience was the time that the base rabbi “invited” the medical staff to join him and his family as they hosted a bagels and lox brunch at the prison. The rabbi was a colonel and his “invitation” was actually a direct order. That morning dozens of doctors and prisoners shared the buffet overlooking the bay. Surprisingly, it was a pleasant experience.

Donald was incarcerated a few years after I had completed my tour of duty, but the same rabbi was still hosting his monthly brunch. I assumed that Donald took full advantage of this prison perk.

A few years later, a reliable source told me that after Donald got out of prison he decided to get divorced, give up his practice, and start a new life. Donald was heard to say, “Those 6 months were the best 6 months of my life. I never realized how miserable I was until I was sent to prison.”

The last I heard, Donald had moved halfway across the country and was living “happily ever after”.

Our lives are finite and if we don’t make the most of them we waste a very precious, irreplaceable commodity. As most cancer survivors have learned, every moment that we are alive and comfortable is a treasure.

What we show the world is often just the tip of the iceberg. Our true selves are often below the surface, undiscoverable to the world and often to ourselves. Listening with the Third Ear (Post#1) to our own thoughts and feelings, exploring the contradictions, fantasies and dreams that come to mind, letting our mind wander and then examining why it went where it went is one way of examining the hidden iceberg. Are we happy? Is hidden anger causing our depression? Who hurt our feelings and made us angry? Why can’t we allow ourselves to be angry?

So, would you rather be in prison or be married? It may be best to figure it out without having to have a bagel brunch with the rabbi.

Thanks!