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There are some things I've never liked talking about. A few days after entering prison, I realized that I wouldn't like talking about this part of my life.
You are on the train from Vienna to Zurich when someone takes a seat in your compartment. The person looks interesting to you, and you briefly nod to each other as he sits down. You are interested in talking with your compartment companion, but in appreciation of the individual space of another you mention something that commits neither of you to further conversation … for example, the weather or the crowds at the train station. You then evaluate your companion's response in determining whether your observation was the beginning or end of a conversation. Does your companion give a preemptory nod, and turn quickly away to find his newspaper? Or does he smile and offer his own observation? Is your companion's smile genuine, or the thin-lipped smile of someone brought up to be polite? As you can see, when interacting with this stranger, we are continually evaluating the degree to which he is protective of his personal space.
One way to conceptualize psychoanalysis is that, at any one moment, there are many strangers in the room. The patient is a stranger to many parts of himself. In a successful analysis, the patient continues to bring in new parts of himself that are strangers to the analyst. Inevitably, the analyst also finds himself discovering aspects to which he has been a stranger in the analysis. It is my impression that the techniques used by many of us assume a familiarity with the strangers who have not entered the room, and who therefore may never fully do so. Put another way, we do not pay enough attention to patients' needs to protect themselves from