On Focusing Self-Definition*

ONE AFTERNOON, some months ago, I suggested to one patient that between sessions she try to write down her thoughts and feelings, especially in relation to changes that she observed about herself. This degree of direction was unusual for me because I rarely tell a patient to do anything except talk about feelings. I had been working on a book on self-definition and it seemed like a useful way to get a patient to define her own experience (Feiner, 2000). I chose this patient because, after many years of “successful” analysis, she claimed it was now becoming too laborious to express things, that she had not the words nor the clarity, and that the effort itself felt overwhelming.

I introduced the idea as a sort of autobiographical psychoanalytic log (in fact, I called it that, rather than a diary) and I wondered if she thought it might be helpful. She hesitated, saying reluctantly that she'd give it a try, but didn't think much of it or the possibility that it would be useful for her. She commented drearily, with her usual caution and tentativeness, tinted by shades of hopelessness, that she really had nothing to say. I had heard of some therapists using logs or diaries, but had never used the technique myself. I thought that she possibly could express herself better privately if the anxiety of immediate disapproval was lessened.

The depressive triad, including feelings of hopelessness and helplessness, psychomotor retardation, and tautological expressiveness (Spiegel, personal communication, circa 1962), seemed to have recurred despite my incautious presumption that this part of her struggle had been worked through in therapy. My current or ongoing response to all these feelings—which she had expressed many times before—was the same as usual: that is, she was saying something, expressing her feeling, and we could usefully talk about that. The inquiry included something like, Who was the “I” that said “I have nothing to say”? What was she feeling when she said it? What w