“Nevermind, I don’t want your damn help, anyway!”
– a man in a snowstorm, pounding on a stranger’s door
I remember a story my father told me in childhood, perhaps because he rarely engaged with me that way.
A man’s car broke down in a snowstorm in the middle of nowhere in rural Montana. After pushing his vehicle to the side of the road, he found nothing but open fields around him. Trudging down the road for a few miles, he saw lights ahead. He became increasingly agitated as he walked toward the ranch house off the road.
When he reached the door, he pounded with his fists. When the rancher opened the door, he hollered forcefully: “Nevermind, I don’t want your damn help, anyway!”
As a child, I understood the story’s point was to invite curiosity about the man and wonder, “Why would he behave this way?” It was not to invite judgment. It’s a lot harder to be curious when you’re the rancher, answering the door to an angry, accusing stranger. Yet we therapists often find ourselves being the rancher.
Often, people seeking our help demand our understanding because they don’t expect to receive it otherwise. Unconsciously, they may not believe they are worthy of help. They may not think we are capable of helping. Alternatively, they may have parts that hold deep pain around asking for and needing help. They tend to be judgmental and openly criticize their partner, not trusting that we will see and hold their partner accountable for their role. They expect us to judge them instead of their partner. Their tone may convey contempt, not just for their partner but also for us.
We therapists often respond by saying, “Here’s the understanding and validation you’re looking for.” “I can see what your partner is doing, and it makes sense you’re angry and judging of them.” It’s almost as if we’re saying, “I’m not the person you’re accusing me of being, someone who wouldn’t help you if you broke down in a storm.” In other words, we’re busy defending ourselves, hoping that we can influence their view of us. This comes from a young part of us.
Validating and responding to demands for support and understanding generally backfires. Whether the partner is in the room or not, we are caught in a back-and-forth match of ‘who’s the bad guy.’ In EFT language, we are caught in a negative cycle with the person we want to help, defending ourselves from implicit accusations of being incapable and uncaring. As people hear implicitly that we feel attacked and are protecting ourselves from them, they feel less safe and more alone.
Being a therapist is often a lonely position where we are in the role of caring for others, with no one to see and care for us. When we feel not seen by our clients, it’s natural for our parts to step in and protect us. We need care and support for what it’s like for us to be the rancher, one who’s often responsible for our own feelings in order to be there for others.
When we have that, we can come alongside the person who’s demanding care by reflecting on the emotional learning in what we are seeing.
“I see how hard you’re working to help me understand you and to stand up for yourself. It’s almost like, in your experience, caregivers haven’t stepped in and come to your rescue when you’ve been hurt. I wonder if you’ve always had to stand up for yourself. If no one has been there for you?”
Photo by Chuck Cochran on Unsplash.
