Privacy

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Privacy is such a marvelous privilege! The ability to withdraw and pay attention to one's own issues and concerns without the interference of others is something that people like me especially appreciate.
Some people pull others into their personal experience. People like me tend to push people out of their deeply personal experiences. It may be a protective device. And it could be an issue of clear boundaries.

One of my former clients was being abused by her husband. He never raised his hand against her, but he didn't work and required her to work overtime to support him. He spent her money as fast as she made it. He belittled her. He undermined her parental authority with their children. He infected her with sexually transmitted diseases (STDs) from other women with whom he consorted. He made her sleep on the floor and bullied her with continual accusations of her supposed affairs. My client--we can call her Sarah--never seemed to resist any of his behaviors. It could have been her cultural norms that dictated her acquiesence to his every demand. Along with Sarah's self esteem, her abusive husband destroyed her sense of entitlement to privacy. Her whole life was an open book to whomever wanted to know anything at all about her. Except of course, the fact that she was horribly abused.

One day I gave Sarah a book about emotional abuse, hoping she could accept the credibility of another and begin to give voice to her experience. "Read it, Sarah," I told her. "This book will help you. It is for you--just for you." She took it from me, wordlessly. "It is private," I emphasized.

Two weeks later I called to find out why she had not come for her appointment. "My husband says I can't come," she explained.
"Have you read the book I gave you?" I asked, hoping that some light had been shed on her life.
"No," she began. "But he has."
Did I hear her right? "Who has?"
"My husband."
"How did he get your book from you?" I feared that he would use the concepts in the book against her.
"I gave it to him," she said flatly.
"But Sarah, it was for you--just for you to read. It was a private book, not for your husband, for you."
"But I gave it to him."
"Why?" My heart sank. She was the one who needed the book.
"What is mine is his. What is mine is yours. What is mine belongs to the children" she said defensively. "My husband needs a book like this to tell him how to help me."
"Sarah, I want you to read it. It is most important that you know what it says, not that your husband understands it. It is a private book for you only."

I knew this battle had been lost, and quite possibly, the war, too.

I never heard from her again.

This has happened with several abused women with whom I have worked as a therapist. They have repeated our privileged, private words from therapy. They have handed over books, pamphlets, and graphics about abuse to their abuser, without a qualm. It is disheartening to say the least. They have learned that no matter who they think they are, their abuser will interpret the real person they are. They have no private ideas about it--they give over the job of defining reality to their intimate abuser.

These are women whose abusers have told them that they are videorecording their every move in the house (including the bathroom); recording every telephone conversation; watching their every move. They have no right to say no to sex because their bodies are not their own any longer. Their feelings are not their own. Worst of all, their own selfhood is no longer their own. They have no privacy of thought, experience, or act.

I well remember Olga, an immigrant friend, whom I encouraged to think about how she would like to be if she wasn't ruled by the iron fist of her abuser. I gave her a bright pink dress that I had outgrown because she would be beautiful in it. Her abuser told her that she looked like a "tramp" in any color other than drab browns, greys, and blues. So she hung it in her closet and nurtured her private hope and desire to one day wear that dress. Two weeks later she was empowered enough to put it on. Several months later she left her abuser, saving her mental health and the lives of her children.

We all need privacy. It is not a sign of emotional stability or psychological wellbeing to utter all of one's feelings or experiences. Even in therapy. I often stop my clients to ask them if they truly want to tell me what they are saying, or if they would rather keep it private. Many are surprised that they are being given permission to hold their boundaries around private aspects of their experience. Others sit back in their chairs and look at me for a long time, assuming that I have cut them off because I'm not interested in their words. They need to be reassured of my ongoing interest and concern while they learn to hold something back for themselves.

Privacy. We all need it. It is part and parcel of what makes us unique.