Lessons From a Flasher
© 2002 Paul W. Schenk, Psy.D.
Because new cases were assigned on a rotating basis at the mental health
center where I did my internship, I never quite knew what to expect when I met a
new client for an intake session. "Jim" proved to be one of those. He
was a flasher. There were times, he said, when he couldn’t stop himself from
leaving the house and driving somewhere to expose himself. He knew what he was
doing was wrong, and had come to the center for help. Even as an intern I knew
that compulsions are very difficult behaviors to stop. It would be an insult to
all of his previous efforts to bring the behavior under control for me to simply
tell him to stop doing it.
I decided to begin with a basic principle: break large tasks down into
smaller ones. He told me the urge to go expose himself always began when he was
at home. Rather than attempt to stop the behavior all once, I asked him to make
just one small change as a start. Before he left the house to go yield to the
urge to expose himself, I asked him to call and leave me a phone message that he
was "on his way out." He and I would understand what that meant.
Interns live with a certain expectation that their clients will have doubts
about the competency of their therapist. We had such doubts about ourselves.
Even so, I was unprepared for Jim’s response. "You know I can’t do
that," he said. But as he spoke, we both knew what had just taken place. He
had expected me to tell him something about stopping the behavior. He
"knew" that he would be able to tell me convincingly that he could not
stop himself. After all, that was why he had come to the center. However, I wasn’t
asking him to stop flashing. I had only asked him to postpone it for 30 seconds
while he left me a telephone message. Just as he "knew" that he couldn’t
stop himself, he "knew" that he could take 30 seconds to place the
phone call. In that instant he understood another truth: if he could interrupt
the behavior to make a phone call, somewhere within himself he had the ability
to stop himself from leaving the house. In that instant his understanding of his
problem changed from "I can’t." He realized that now he was going to
be dealing with the question of whether or not he would change his
behavior.
This distinction is a critically important one. You’ve probably heard the
story about the boy who is having a cast put on his broken arm by the family
doctor. "Doctor Smith, will I be able to play the piano after you take off
the cast?" he asks. "Of course, Billy. Why do you ask?" replied
the doctor. "Because I’ve never been able to play it before." Now
more than 20 years since I worked with Jim, I have watched a simple truth be
reaffirmed again and again with many of my clients. If they believed there was
nothing they could do about a particular situation, they didn’t even attempt
to work on finding one. If they didn’t even realize there was an alternative
from which they could choose, they acted helpless, "I had to, I had no
choice."
Sometimes it is not easy to tell whether another person believes he has any
choices, or whether he’s considered them. Just because I can conceive of an
alternative doesn’t mean the other person has considered it.
That’s why, every winter, my father would take me out driving as soon as
the roads were covered with snow. He knew that inexperienced drivers
instinctively turn the wrong way when they begin to skid. Again and again he
would have me put the car into a skid – on a large, deserted, snow covered
parking lot – so that I would have lots of practice at reacting in a way that
would go against my instincts. (You want to turn the wheel in the same
direction that the back end of your car is skidding.) There is precious little
time to think if the real situation occurs.
Parents live through the adolescent years hoping their sons and daughters can
somehow escape having their instincts and inexperience be tested by their peers
or their hormones in such spur of the moment situations. Unlike practicing what
to do on a slippery road, however, most parents wouldn’t dream of setting up
practice situations for the other nightmares they fear: drinking, drug use,
premarital sex and driving emergencies to name just a few of the big ones.
Pagers and cell phones may help them keep in touch, but they have their limits.
I take my own teenage son out driving when the snow covers the roads. It is
one situation where I can safely give him a chance to practice again and again
until he feels more confident about what he will do – from experience – if a
real skid unexpectedly happens. I can’t give him similar practice in some of
the other adolescent danger zones. So I am left at times taking a deep breath
and wondering. I know he’s considered the reality that some of his peers are
having sex. I know he’s made his own decision about where he stands on that. I
don’t know if he’s considered that someone he dates over the next few years
may want to talk him into having sex, instead of him being the one doing the
talking. Few of the teenage boys I’ve worked with in 25 years had ever thought
of what they would say or do in that situation. (A few had. A few even
complained about having to fend off regular invitations to have sex.)
Years ago Jim helped me appreciate the importance of keeping acutely aware of
the difference between I can’t and I won’t. My driving lessons
on those snow covered parking lots helped me appreciate the importance of
realizing that I could get myself in a lot of trouble if I didn’t rehearse my
reaction to a potentially tricky situation often enough to be confident how I
would handle it if the need arose (or even how to avoid letting the precursors
to the situation develop.)
Parents know that no matter how much they teach, lecture, or nag, the true
outcome of their fears may ultimately be determined by these distinctions. When
it comes to the consequences of drinking, drug use, premarital sex, driving and
other potential adolescent "skids", parents know that they cannot
always be physically present to intervene at the last second. Just as teenagers
probably hear far more parting words from their parents than they would like to
"be careful" as they are leaving the house for the evening, they
probably never hear the many silent prayers that are spoken after the door
closes: "May you have the wisdom to know which way to turn if you start to
skid, and if you aren’t sure, discover the power of giving yourself 30 seconds
before you open that door."
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