By Dina Sokal, MD
[Fall 2003; Vol. 30, No. 1; Pg 7, 11]
On a cloudy, crisp day in May, scattered raindrops fell on the college graduates. They were protected by their caps and gowns while their families and friends rushed to find umbrellas or waited in long lines for hot tea and coffee. Most of us were wearing coats and the honorary degree speakers were tempted to hasten their words so that no one would get too wet. My children and their cousins giggled as they opened a huge umbrella to sit under which jostled the people behind them. My oldest daughter was graduating college! I rushed to the procession line as she walked down the aisle to the traditional graduation music from “Pomp and Circumstance.” She looked happy and triumphant and I couldn’t believe that she was once an infant whom I cradled in my arms and took to classes during my psychiatric residency. She was an infant who always wanted to be near people or held—she enjoyed music and had (and still has) a beautiful smile. So now she’s graduating and our paths are separating. It’s time for me to let go and for my daughter to blossom even more on her own than in college.
The feelings I had were strong and yet familiar to me as a psychiatrist. Letting go of your daughter is bittersweet just like letting your patients find their own paths and eventually saying good-by to them. As a younger psychiatrist, I believed that weekly therapy sessions to the end of treatment were necessary for every patient. Now that I’m “wiser,” I’m more able to let go of a patient when he or she determines enough is enough. Still, my facial expression revealed my feelings of disappointment when an adult patient wanted to come every three weeks instead of every other week. I had to tell myself to let him choose his way. No, he wasn’t going to be able to work as intensively on his self esteem as I had imagined he would, but then again he was feeling better and to my surprise, his next session three weeks later was beneficial despite the longer time interval.
Other patients of mine have come for intensive twice a week therapy and now come once every month or two. One woman came because of depression. She never really knew who she was as she had always learned to subjugate her needs and interests to her domineering parents and then to her children and husband. Now when I see her, she knows exactly who she is and what she wants and it’s a pleasure to me that she touches base periodically. I know that my relationship with my daughter will be similar. Our separation will not be complete—we will always touch base with one another and share our lives but in a more adult to adult way.
Now, back to the graduation. The first speaker’s words spoke to each graduate’s potential to “do good” in the world. Hafsat Abiola, a woman from Nigeria who had lost her father when he was incarcerated for supporting Democracy and her mother who was assassinated for the same reason, spoke of young Americans doubting themselves and yet having so much to offer others. She remarked on how each graduate’s path was a worthwhile one no matter how insignificant it might seem to the graduate. Her words had meaning for all of us. As a psychiatrist, I have learned that despite there being limits to how much I can help others, the smallest steps forward are often significant and in helping others, I’m also learning from them. Also, those I do help will in their own ways help others so that my link with my patients extends further than it seems. I never thought that a patient of mine who for years minimized her alcohol abuse would stop drinking; she now goes to AA. She is having trouble understanding why her husband can’t stop drinking despite her problem doing so but recently, he just started the road to recovery himself. I also obviously see many people who doubt themselves. Some are able, over time, to create a new and more realistic vision of who they are. Others have been unable to change their views and some stop treatment prematurely or see someone else. I used to view these scenarios as a failure, but am now more able to accept my limits. My daughter will be learning and accepting her strengths and her limits as well.
The next speaker’s words were more amusing. He was a jazz musician who used his body as an instrument to entertain us but he was interrupted by the rain pouring down more heavily. The graduates were quickly lining up to receive their diplomas and once again I rushed closer to get a glimpse of my daughter. Many people were, by then, waiting inside to warm up until the ceremony was over as was my family. Only, I needed to be out there near my daughter as the graduates tossed their caps into the air and then marched down the aisle once again. I hugged my daughter and let go of my tears.
Feelings of sadness, happiness, and pride were mingling together. It reminded me of how I am sometimes more emotional after a particularly intensive course of treatment is over with a patient. I treated two seriously depressed teens in their senior year of high school. Seeing them twice a week over a relatively short period of time was hard work but learning that both were doing well in college was extremely gratifying. Knowing that I could help bring more happiness to their lives and to their families, helps me go on with the challenging work of psychiatry. In a similar way, parenting is a challenging process but ultimately rewarding—letting go of my daughter is difficult but necessary as it is one further step in parenting.
So these are my musings and how I comfort myself as the rain pitter patters in time with my tears and the graduation ceremony ends.