Page 60 of Vivacity
‘I see. Yet another woman trying to fix me, because you think I’m a tyrant.’
My take is that society has a crystal-clear understanding of how Enneagram archetypes show up in the world without having one iota of understanding of or compassion for the very deep, very real fears that shape those archetypes. And so what we have are cruelly reductionist clichés that in no way explain the dynamics driving these behaviours at their core.
Eights, like Ethan, are bullies or steamrollers. Twos are martyrs or doormats. Threes are cut-throat workaholics. Sevens—like me—are party animals or commitment phobes. Sixes are hopeless piles of neuroses (hello, Ross Geller). I’m fully conscious of this, but it feels particularly cruel to hear Ethan use this kind of language against himself.
‘No.No.’ I push myself up onto one elbow. ‘Listen to me very carefully. You are not broken, and you’re not a tyrant. And I see you, probably more fully than you see yourself. I see a beautiful man, with so much integrity, who cares far more deeply than he lets on. But I think there are some tools out there that could help you, especially where your relationship with Jamie is concerned.’
At the mention of his son, he actually flinches.
‘I’m not trying to “fix” you, and I’m certainly not making this request for my benefit. I know a therapist. He’s amazing, and I think you’d like him, actually. Maybe you spend a few hours with him, and maybe he gives you some food for thought. Some tools, as I said.’
He’s quiet for a moment. I suspect he’s desperately trying to find a way to negotiate his way out of this. ‘So you’re bribing me with sex to get what you want. Don’t you think that’s unethical?’
‘It’s no less ethical than you paying me for sex. And I don’t feel bad about it. The end justifies the means, and anyone who says that’s not true at least some of the time is flat-out lying. My body is the only leverage I have here, so I’m not afraid to use it. You’re not the only one who’s freaking out. I’m the one handing myself over to a control junkie after telling him that more control was the opposite of what he needed.’
We’re not quite glaring at each other, but it feels like a standoff.
‘Why do you care who I see?’ he asks, pulling me down so I’m lying in his arms again. ‘Why can’t I just see who I like? Why can’t I just get Topher to go through the highest-rated therapists in Harley Street and book me into one?’
‘Firstly, Topher doesn’t have a psychology degree. I’d like to think I can steer you right here. Secondly—’ I hesitate. It’s crucial that I get my words right here. ‘Traditional talk therapy and CBT are really fantastic. My regular therapist is amazing—she’s based in Athens, but I still speak to her every week. That said, I think a different approach might work well for you at first.’
He narrows his eyes. ‘What do you mean,different?’
‘Well, I think you might benefit from something more… strategic.’ The word is, appropriately enough, a strategic one. I don’t want to sayemotionalorsomatic, because I’ll lose him. But the truth is that CBT works brilliantly for people who can identify their thought patterns, whereas Ethan’s traumaresponses are happening in his nervous system, well below his conscious levels of awareness.
Besides, he’s already in his head too much. He’s already highly analytical on the surface. This guy personifies the T for Thinking in the Myers-Briggs framework. In fact, it’s his Thinking dominance that protects him from any perceived vulnerability. Emotional cues? Danger. Logical thinking? Safe.
CBT arguably focuses on rationalising your way out of emotional patterns, but this dude’s bodyguard, or protector, parts are running the show here. There’s no way traditional talk therapy will land—his internal protectors will intercept and reframe any messages before they ever touch his core.
The human nervous system is ancient. These systems evolved long before we humans developed complex spoken language. Instead, they run on sensation, movement, and reflex, which is why a modality that accesses memory and emotion through felt experience as well as cognitive insight feels like the right approach for Ethan.
I press on despite the look of outright distrust on his face. ‘So, imagine a time when you feel conflicted. Maybe Jamie reaches out to you, and a part of you wants to connect with him, but another part of you, a more forceful part, puts paid to that because you think you should stay away from him. To protect him, right?’
A small, tight nod. He really hates it when I bring up his relationship with Jamie and I get it, I really do. He feels vulnerable and self-conscious, and whatever protector parts are forcing him to keep his distance, I bet there are other parts shaming him for doing just that.
‘Well then, imagine you have a conflict at work. Say your board members all have different agendas, and everyone’s emailing you and complaining and weighing in, and it’s getting chaotic. What would you do?’
He shoots me adon’t be stupidlook. ‘I’d call a board meeting.’
‘Exactly!’ I give him a huge smile, and he blinks. ‘Because everyone deserves their say, and you have to get everyone around a table and hear them out before you can move forward. Right? Because you’d never just tell any of them to shut up. If something’s bothering them, even if it’s irrational, you’d still give them airtime. But that’s what we do when we don’t like what our parts are saying to us. We shut them down, we drown them out, we shame them.’
He’s quiet for a moment, and I hope that he’s choosing to process this. ‘So what’s your point?’
‘The kind of therapy I’d suggest you start with is called IFS, or Internal Family Systems. It’s the idea that we have lots of parts inside us, all with different agendas, and that we’re a system rather than a mono-brain. A lot of the parts are younger, and they haven’t got the memo that you’re a forty-year-old?—’
‘Forty-one.’
‘Forty-one-year-old man who’s got this.’
He’s still looking incredibly sceptical, and I daren’t psychoanalyse him any further to his face, so I pivot. ‘Take me, for example. Like everyone on this planet, I have younger parts that were hurt when I was a kid, and protectors, or guards, that formed to make sure those younger parts never had to feel that hurt again. You following?’
He nods slowly, dubiously. I give him a shaky smile, because, no matter how much work I do on myself, no matter how many times I meet these young parts now, it always makes me feel vulnerable and sad. I may have had a life of extreme privilege, but my heart still bleeds for these little-girl versions of myself.
‘Okay, so until I was seven, I was educated at an international school in Athens, and then we moved to London so I could finish the rest of prep school here. My parents were around most of thetime, mainly to make sure I applied myself to my schoolwork. But once I got into St Paul’s Girls’ at eleven, their jet-setting started back up again. They mainly left my older brother and sister and me with nannies and housekeepers.
‘There were tonnes of staff around—I was never neglected—but apart from the occasional awards ceremony, they just weren’t around much during term time.’
He frowns and covers the hand I’ve laid on his chest with his. ‘That’s awful. I’m sorry. My dad may be a shit, but at least he was around. Too much, arguably.’
