Healing: Just what does that mean? A deconstruction
Let’s face it: we go through a lot in life. Ups and downs, joys and strife. Each day there are new challenges to handle. When people face bigger ones, whether driven by something that happened around them or by their feelings about themselves, we look for support and solutions.
When people then come to me for therapy, a common word used is “healing.” No, there’s no cut for the body to mend with new skin, or bone to set and re-fuse. Healing here is clearly figurative. But what does this idea say about how we are thinking about psychological solutions?
This is one I’m exploring here with you. I have mixed feelings to sort out. So bear with me.
Healing: Dictionary definitions
The Oxford English Dictionary gives four meanings for the noun healing, going back to old English as a noun, and middle/modern English as an adjective and verb. I take the noun to be the main one, not because of age, but because that is how people are using it: as an entity they are looking for.
Sadly, I do not have access to the OED, so instead I will give Merriam-Webster’s two definitions: “1. The act or process of curing or of restoring to health”; and, “2. The process of getting well.” These two are both vague on what is happening, and differ only on voice. In definition 1, someone or something else is doing the healing, while in definition 2, the process is of the person themselves.
The OED’s adjective definition, which for some reason I was able to access, is clearer on what is happening in its second and third definitions. Definition 2 describes an action that “repairs, resolves, or corrects something; that restores spiritual or psychological wholeness, provides relief from an unpleasant emotion, or repairs a breach in relations.” Definition 3 describes “returning to a normal (or more normal condition).”
Healing as a restoration: deconstruction
Both dictionaries identify the idea of restoring, which I think is what many people come in looking for. There’s a sense of, I was “whole” (see OED definition 2), i.e. my ‘true’ self, and then something destructive happened, and now I’m broken. The goal, in this perspective, is to return to how things were. That was good; this is bad. In that prior state, I was content; now I am sad, or angry, or scared. Something has been lost that we want returned, something broken we want fixed.
Related is the idea from OED definition 3 of “normal.” There’s an implication of proper functioning. Legs are for walking. Skin is for keeping harmful things out. Emotions are for… being happy? This one seems like a bit (quite a bit) of a stretch, but this is what people seem to assume. In the introduction to Acceptance and Commitment Therapy, Hayes et al. (2003) describe this as the “myth of healthy normality.” (Health and healing are, of course, related words.) The idea that health is a natural state people have until being thrown off-course.
And it’s not just about emotion. There are all sorts of cultural assumptions about what is “normal.” In the U.S., normal means having a steady job. Having a heterosexual spouse, with children. Being Christian. Having full use of all limbs and senses and cognitive abilities. And yes, feeling content and, to use a fancy word, equanimous, or even-tempered, when going through one’s daily life. I’m not going to get into the word “normal” here (I’ve already done so), but normality and healing have related assumptions.
Restoration is a myth
This whole goal is, for better or for worse, impossible. We cannot go back. Even if we had a time machine and could literally go back. Even so, it would be this you going back, not that you. This connects to a related myth about evolution, the notion of “devolving” to a lower state. Change only happens forward, no matter whether the change makes something simpler or more complicated, desirable or painful.
Even if you arrive at a similar feeling or state, it is a new state. In a way, we are our own doppelgängers. If you work through a fear, you have come to a new understanding of your capacity. You’ve discovered something that previously you didn’t know and were potentially vulnerable to, whether you had been aware of it or not.
This is the wisdom – and beauty – of the art of kintsugi, or rebuilding broken pottery with a metallic lacquer, that I incorporated into my last post. We ourselves are an ever-changing work of art.
Healing as a process: Deconstruction
While I do not buy into healing as restoration, I think there still is something valuable in the process itself. And perhaps through this process, we can arrive at a better sense of the destination.
Underneath the assumptions about where healing is headed is the recognition of a problem to face. Put simply: there’s something about my life that I want to change. The nice thing about this perspective is that it is much more inclusive. It doesn’t imply that the desired change ever was there: I can set out towards an envisioned destination I’ve never been to before. And it doesn’t imply what needs changing. While the idea of restoration doesn’t explicitly say that what is returning is solely about the person being treated, this is nevertheless strongly implied. The problem with this assumption is clearest when it comes to grief. If healing is a restoration, how can I heal with just my body? Restoring would mean bringing the person back to life.
If the change turns out to not be about me, then perhaps what I change is my expectations of myself and (crucially) others.
Healing and destination
Okay. So if healing is about the process, then when am I healed? What is the destination?
I think this question can only be answered by understanding where the desired change is located. Because again, the assumption that it is the person as a whole: I am healthy, I am well. And therefore, if I want a change, then I must be unwell, or ill. But I would argue that this is never the case. We can, perhaps, be alive or dead; present or absent. But if I break my leg, I am not broken; my leg is. If I am struggling with a particular situation, my sense of that situation may be problematic; I am not. We can, as the medical model does, take this to mean a duality: I am separate from the problem. This would then mean we can remove the situation from its context, and apply the same healing regardless.
This is obviously not true. My broken leg means something very different if I am 20 years old versus 80 years old; if I am a computer scientist or I am a footballer. If I live in a city or in the countryside. Or if I am wealthy with access to excellent medical care, versus impoverished, without insurance, and with many family members depending on me to work. For the wealthy individual, a few simple changes will suffice. For the impoverished one, there may be dozens of changes needed just to survive.
Healing and voice
And so this is why recognizing voice is crucial. You may be thinking, clearly he’s going to emphasize the voice of the one being “healed” as the crucial one. Wrong.
That person’s voice is, certainly, central. After all, they know the full complexity of the situation. I do not. If I give the destination from my own knowledge, there’s a good chance it will be wrong in important ways.
But by the same token, the person’s own voice is also not sufficient. After all, if they could deduce the solution from their knowledge, wouldn’t they have already done it? Clear answers to distress are highly motivating. Even the most depressed person will act on something that fits their current understanding of what they are needing. Instead, when someone comes to see me, my voice is also part of defining the destination (a humbling responsibility!). And we can extend this much further. Family members have an important stake. Friends, coworkers, fellow members of churches and activities. Our communities have a stake.
The crucial factors of the desired change involves, to varying extents, all of these people. And therefore, the process of healing is also about all of these people, and the destination cannot be fully defined without them all.
Healing: A reconstruction
Let’s heal this blog post, together. Healing is not a restoration, or a fix. It is not something done to just one body. If healing is going to mean anything useful, it has to be about the process itself. It has to be contextual: it has be about how we work with each other, as individuals, partners, families, and communities, to learn and grow. And fundamentally, healing is really an act of creation: just like kintsugi, it means finding, building, and/or learning something that never was before.
Our living world needs so much of this. May we focus on finding ways to work on healing together.