Finding — and recognizing — the truth a tricky part of therapy

In therapy, telling the truth is more important than feeling better.

I'm convinced that quality therapy is not about helping people feel better. It's about helping people tell the truth. Truth might or might not yield better feelings. But truth invites integrity, from which flows a paradoxical combination of peace and vitality -- a quiet and a new energy for living well.

Feelings, schmeelings. I'm capable of feeling great about absolute nonsense, and feeling lousy about things clearly in my own best interest. As a measure of what is real and unreal, feelings tend not to be trustworthy.

Now, the problem with this clinical prejudice of mine is twofold. You don't want to recklessly divest folks from their defenses. It's potentially harmful, and "do no harm" is the over-arching mandate of my trade. Seriously, you can provoke psychotic breaks in people by stripping them recklessly of their ego-defenses. More commonly, they'll just stop coming to therapy.

The other risk I take is being seen as judgmental. As if I'm the one who knows.

In the early days of my career, I talked with a mother and teenage daughter in the aftermath of the daughter's decision to abort a pregnancy. Now, whatever your moral stance regarding abortion -- and I'll keep mine to myself for the moment -- my clinical assumption is that post-abortion therapy would be about grieving, a time for self-examination.

But the mother patted the daughter on the back, and said, practically beaming at me: "We don't see this as ending a life. Just putting it off for a while."

I really don't know how I kept a sober, "therapeutically correct" face. Maybe it was sheer shock. I think I nodded pathetically like Bill Murray's "Saturday Night Live" character in the Slavic family that runs the Cheeseburger Diner: "CheeseBoigy-CheeseBoigy, two cheep, two petsi!"

OK, so now I either accept without protest the idea that we can recycle fetuses, send them back -- where, exactly? -- to wait patiently for a more appropriate time to be conceived and gestate and be born, or I risk reducing this mother and daughter to quivering hysteria, or I risk being seen as maybe ever-so-slightly judgmental when I say, "What the hell are you talking about?"

Let me head off some reader mail and say that last bit was deliberately cheeky to make the point.

What I did was let it go. I never saw them again. To this day I still don't think I served them well. Not sure how I'd handle it differently if it happened today.

I join my friend for Thanksgiving dinner. I meet my friend's family, including his brother. As we drive away, I say, "I didn't know you had a gay brother."

"He's not," my friend says.

"Uh, yes he is," I say, finding it a little odd that my buddy would protest the obvious.

"Look, I thought so, too -- even asked my mom about it. She says that she has asked my brother point blank, and he said 'no.' "

Two years later I join my buddy for another family gathering. We're sitting in the kitchen, listening to his mom talk about the brother, who will be coming over later with his "roommate." I honestly don't know what came over me. Was I just curious? Trying to be helpful? Just being a jerk? Whatever the case, I saw a segue and I took it:

"When did (your son) come out to you?"

"Oh, I've always known that he was gay," Mom says without hesitation.

I actually "feel" my friend's stunned energy before I glance over to see it. I'm reminded of Elmer Fudd's expression trying to follow the logic of Daffy Duck. There's a reason those cartoons bear the monicker "Looney Tunes." Where's Porky Pig when you need him? "Ahbudee-ahbudee-ahbudee, that's all folks!"

My friend and I would later talk about his painful dilemma. Does he just let this go? Does he confront his mom?

I understand the human need for ego defense and delusional narratives. I've crafted a few of my own. In a perfect world, my buddy's mother would come to him and say: "I need to apologize for lying to you about your brother. I was scared. Ashamed. Trying to deal with it myself. I'm sorry I pulled you in to my little ruse of self-comfort."

See, I'm convinced my buddy would "get" that, forgive her and go on.

Instead, the mom just trades one delusion for the new delusion that she was never delusional. This costs her credibility, and a measure of her son's respect.

Steven Kalas is a behavioral health consultant and counselor at Clear View Counseling and Wellness Center in Las Vegas. His columns appear on Tuesdays and Sundays. Questions for the Asking Human Matters column or comments can be e-mailed to skalas@review journal.com.