Why I Write: Becoming a Writing Psychoanalyst: Conflict, Connection, Creativity, and Solitude

Thinking about why I write opens many doors. As a writer, I think about matters like form, privacy, influence, communication, and the pleasure of words. As a psychoanalyst, though, I would be remiss if I omitted some of the more personal meanings: conflicts, anxieties, sublimations; family, cultural and institutional histories; and the times in which my career and personal identity have developed. Over the decades, though, with the advance of time, support from family, friends, colleagues and institutions, and a good-enough analysis, much of this has morphed into more autonomous pleasures, capacities, and talents.

I was a very successful student, eager to use my mind and be recognized for it. But this was not without conflict. My mother was my biggest fan throughout my childhood, which has been a great source of confidence and love. But as it was so “unconditional,” I found it difficult to sort out what about me was really worth admiring. My father often showed his care by being tough, perhaps filling this gap with a quotient of self-criticism and rebellion. All in all, I was unsure about recognition, competition, and ambition. (There are, of course, many ways to put all this.) Analytic culture offers fewer ways of measuring status and rank than many professions, and those that are offered—referrals, clinical reputation, and institutional and teaching positions—tend to be private,

personal, and generally informal. As my career developed, I could n