To this day, I’m not sure that I am in possession of substantially greater self-knowledge than someone who has never been inside a therapist’s office. What I do know, aside from the fact that the unconscious plays strange tricks and that the past stalks the present in ways we can’t begin to imagine, is a certain language, a certain style of thinking that, in its capacity for reframing your life story, becomes — how should I put this? — addictive…
“And yet it seems to me that the process itself, in its very commitment to interiority — its attempt to ferret out prime causes and pivotal events from the psychic rubble of the past and the unwieldy conflicts of the present — can be intriguing enough to stand in as its own reward.”
[This is a doozy of an article: long-winded, self-involved, not entirely pleasant to read. The obligatory horror stories of pathologically insensitive therapists make me cringe; I believe them but feel they're sensationalized and unbalanced. With the utmost sympathy, Daphne Merkin does seem like a person destined for therapy. I don't mean this as an insult – I wouldn't be featuring this article if I did. (I wouldn't be here if I did!) Merkin's struggles are real, and she's honest about them. As a result, she doesn't offer up the most likable self-portrait. I don't know if that's her objective, but in any case she bravely illustrates a core tenant of therapy: we evade the truth of ourselves at extremely high cost. If you read this article, read it with an open mind. Daphne Merkin may not be "your kind of person," but the sympathy that she feels for herself in the face of obviously frustrating emotions is, I'm sure, a consequence of her life in therapy – a consequence and a great accomplishment. -Ed.]