When we were living and practicing in Houston, my husband and I had the great fortune of participating in a group called “Healing the Healers.” A psychiatrist on the faculty of Baylor College of Medicine, who was also a Methodist minister, created and facilitated our group. We were six couples who met every other Sunday evening for nearly three years. Our group consisted of four physician couples and two psychologist couples. We met in each other’s living rooms, comfortably seated, munching on snacks. Our facilitator prompted us with questions, and he was tenderly relentless.
He subscribed to the notion that most people become doctors to care for others because they were somehow lacking in that care for themselves. An alternative theory held that the helping of others is a means of pushing our own needs and anxieties into the background. The psychologist Carl Jung called this person the “wounded healer” and wrote that “it is his own hurt that gives a measure of his power to heal.” These theories all suggested that we needed to deal with not only our current feelings, but also our old wounds, so that we could function as better caregivers.
Our “Healing the Healers” group discussed everything from marriage relationships to parenting our children, and even dealing with our own parents. We talked about our feelings, even the men “opened up.” Interestingly, we seldom spoke about our patients and problems at work. Our group’s goals were to provide mutual support and to improve our understanding of the stresses of being caregivers.
There were many insights that I gained from our healers’ group. One of the most important things this brilliant psychiatrist taught me was the notion of a “good cop - bad cop” relationship. Initially, when we joined this support group our children were five and two years old. My husband and I had already established a parenting pattern in which I acted as the “bad cop,” and he assumed the role of “good cop.” It suited his lackadaisical personality.
You may be aware of this phenomenon, in which the “bad cop” parent is stricter and more serious while they tend to recognize and enforce the rules. The “good cop” parent is more calm, fun, and lenient with the children. I was clearly tougher, always expecting our son to conform to his teacher’s expectations. We found ourselves sending mixed messages to David, and sometimes the unfortunate child figured out how to play us off one another. I became jealous of the easy-going relationship David had with my husband, and I resented the conflicting signals that we were giving him.
Our Healers’ group facilitator helped me realize that if I was acting as the “bad cop,” then I should be able to ask for assistance when needed. Specifically, he said, “You should ask for assistance from your deputy.” Sitting there, looking at both of us within this group of caregivers, he taught me the wisdom of “deputizing my husband” when necessary. (Interestingly, my husband pretended to be unaware of his role as the “good cop.”)
Nevertheless, I taught myself to pause and say, “I need a deputy,” and be specific about what we both needed to do. Slowly, I learned to ask for the help I needed, and to be unambiguous with those requests. As a result, we spent more time discussing the issues of our son’s behavior out of earshot and stopped sending mixed messages to him. We started putting up a united front, as all parents should.
Typical of many female physicians, I was also hyper-responsible and attempted to control everything for my children and family. You know well that long list of all the things we do – parties, play dates, school events, teacher gifts, lessons, tutors, appointments, and on and on. Once I arranged a six-year-old birthday party for David and hired a real magician. We invited his entire class, and all eighteen children showed up. The magician wowed these first graders on our back deck for over one hour.
Fortunately, I had “deputized” my husband and gave him a detailed list of all his jobs before and during the party – pick up the cake, the balloons, and help with the decorations. He did them and he was also required to ensure that no child fell off our deck (a two-foot drop which had no railing at the time.) As a result of all his help, I didn’t feel stressed or crazy that day, but joyful, and David’s party was a huge success. Best of all, I felt like a good cop!
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