Автор отказался от семейной терапии, опасаясь, что обсуждение прошлых обид разрушит отношения

In the late 1970s, a debate erupted in my city over asbestos at a local high school. Some experts wanted to remove it. Others believed it was safer to encapsulate the dangerous dust than disturb it. The incident came to mind recently when, following years of periodic estrangement with a sibling, it was suggested that the two of us try family counseling. I agreed to it — but had to wonder whether there are some things that just aren’t worth stirring up. Until that point, my exposure to therapy had been limited to fictional therapists on television programs such as The Bob Newhart Show and In Treatment. But I welcomed the possibility of resuming a once-close relationship. Attempting a civil start to our first session, I made the rookie mistake of assuming it was best to begin with the positive, ticking off a list of my sib’s many fine qualities. I wasn’t looking for an equal exchange — “Andy is a good swimmer” or “He chooses good restaurants” would have been fine. But the fact that they apparently could not come up with anything felt ominous. Neither of us had any bombshell revelations. Our conflicts were about the ways we had disappointed each other over the past 40 years. Still, I was expecting we would spend more time closer to the present rather than mired in events from decades ago. This dynamic deepened in our second meeting. Each episode from the past seemed to spawn another ancient memory. When I asked our therapist whether it was wise to share thoughts that might be hurtful, she suggested that unless we were fully candid, we could never reestablish a real bond. Apparently, if therapy doesn’t make you uncomfortable, you aren’t doing it right. Perhaps I was doing it wrong, but every memory seemed to move us further from reconciliation. As our tone grew toxic, I wondered if we might have been better off with massage therapy. Remarkably, none of the acrimony seemed to spill over into real life. Between sessions, we tacitly borrowed the first rule of Fight Club: Never discussing that thing you’re doing. Maybe I was in denial but I was enjoying their company so much that I remembered everything I missed about them in their absence. I thought of Ralph and Sam, the Looney Tunes wolf and sheepdog who punch in for a brutal workday battle over sheep, then clock out to enjoy an amiable lunch break together. I realized we were colluding to avoid uncomfortable, possibly inevitable conversations. Yet I couldn’t help wondering if there was something to be said for the idea that some things are better left unsaid. Of course, many therapists believe there is a healthy middle ground between total transparency and sweeping things under the rug. I asked clinical psychologist Harriet Lerner, author of The Dance of Anger: A Woman’s Guide to Changing the Patterns of Intimate Relationships, about striking the right balance. “In key relationships (marriage, family, close friendship), it’s important to be able to speak openly about things that matter,” she says. However, “In the name of authenticity and truth-telling, people bludgeon each other, shut down the lines of communication, and make it impossible for two people to hear each other or even stay in the same room. . . . In most cases intensity breeds more intensity, reactivity breeds more reactivity, and expressions of anger lead nowhere or even make things worse.” Inevitably, it was that fear of making things worse that made me worry future sessions might compromise the fragile friendship we’d struck outside of therapy. When our fourth session degenerated into a shouting match, I decided to opt out. After that meeting, I received an email from our therapist who suggested that, had we continued, we could have come away “with a deeper understanding of each other and identified what you need to have a stronger bond.” In the long run, she may prove to be right. After all, none of the issues that kept us apart all those years were settled. We may well still be concealing a lifetime’s worth of anger and resentment. One day, it might resurface, sending us back into silence. For now, our post-therapy connection seems to be holding up well. “Now what?” my sib asked shortly after our final session. It was a good question with no easy answer. Having reached sexagenarian status, I just couldn’t imagine resolving decades of differences by rehashing the past, reopening old wounds with the risk of creating new ones. Reading our therapist’s words that “it is through the pain and suffering we grow and heal,” I wondered if there were another way. As simplistic and unrealistic as it may sound, I suspect the only way we’ll be able to create a sustainable bond is if, instead of focusing on the past, we can find a way to move beyond it. As the late British musician Dave Mason sang in 1977: “So let’s leave it alone/ ’Cause we can’t see eye to eye/ There ain’t no good guy, there ain’t no bad guy/ There’s only you and me and we just disagree.” That sounds perfectly agreeable to me. Andy Levinsky is a frequent contributor to Globe Magazine. Send comments to [email protected].