I thought I was pretty damn smart. Smart about myself, I mean. For over 40 years I’ve been working as a psychologist and that means thousands of people. Thousands of people with rich family dynamics to explore. Together we dug around, examined, looked at things from every conceivable angle, lifted every rock. And when you’re doing that with someone else, it’s inevitable that you subject yourself to the same scrutiny. Truth is, I believe that most of us who get into this field to begin with are motivated, at least in part, by a deep need to understand ourselves and our family dynamics. Along with time spent with clients, I’ve had years of work with my own therapists, and endless hours mulling it all over with my sister, with my friends. I had ruthlessly interviewed myself. Scrutinized every wacky family interaction. I had most definitely led an examined life. What I mean is this: after all that time, all that work, I truly believed I had come to a place where — and I know how this is going to sound — I had no more work to do as far as my parents were concerned. Ah, hubris! Never mind the things I’ve repeated to clients too many times to count, things I wholeheartedly believe: There is no finish line where we spike the ball and do the victory dance. We are all a work in progress. There’s always something to learn about yourself.
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