Life on the Edge with Mr. Good Woodword

Today, I will share a true story and some candid reflections from my life.

I hope it'll trigger some reflections and insights of your own.

In this week's podcast, Why Do I Feel So Bad? Understanding Psychiatric Medication Withdrawal in Less than 10 Minutes, I help people to consider the mysteries behind psychotropic medication withdrawal that can cause suffering and imbalance.

As always, feel free to send me your feedback, insights, and requests for other podcasts/updates on my contact page here. I may not be able to respond to every comment, but I will give each one my careful consideration.


Life on the Edge with Mr. Good Woodword
Lessons from a table

Mr. Good Woodword clearly had a very difficult life. Countless circular scars, formed around nails that once pierced him, punctuate his entire surface. People may have once used him to post notices and then just left the nails there to rust. Long iron streaks trail from scattered bullseye centers, like flowing blood from old wounds.

I found Mr. Good Woodword online. The company posted an unflattering picture of him leaning up against a wall—pale, dry, and ragged around the edges—with some measurements. I rescued him from the company, after paying a hefty sum, and shipped him to Rance Hamaker of Repoint Woodworks.

It took Rance five months to restore Mr. Good Woodword. Rance said that he had to remove over 100 nails. He pointed to one area where he'd overlooked a single nail. It's still stuck there—a dark reminder of the past.

I couldn't wait to sit by Mr. Good Woodword once he finally arrived at my house. After taking many difficult tests at cramped desks, or sitting at counter-like tables after traumatic nights on-call, I found myself habitually avoiding desks and tables when not working.

Instead, I'd usually choose to place my laptop on a pillow as an alternative writing surface. But Mr. Good Woodword isn't a desk. He is a live edge dining table.

As a wounded healer, I understand wounded things. Like Mr. Good Woodword, my wounds are surrounded by concentric circles of protection, pierced through by dark paths that bleed from dark centers.

Last Thanksgiving, Mr. Good Woodword was a part of our family gathering. After moving to Utah, I finally decided to open my heart and home to my parents, both of whom I had shunned for over 15 years—it was a chance for redemption and forgiveness of their past abuses.

As ten family members stood together peacefully around the kitchen island for the first time in over a decade, my father placed his hand around my waist, grabbed a part of my side, and surreptitiously pinched me. Then, he softly chuckled mockingly. I froze and ignored him. My daughter described it as a sneaky combination of fat-shaming and abuse.

He had not changed in the past 15 years, but I had. As E. B. Johnson wrote in her straight-shooting essay, The 6 Things You Should Never Say to Someone Who Had a Narcissistic Parent, "Being family doesn't entitle someone to abuse you. Ever." Later, after reflecting on what happened, I confronted my parents at their home. My brother accompanied me.

During our conversation, my half-deaf mother whispered to my father something that everyone could hear, "Don't mind her. She's mentally ill."

In the past, she tried to convince others that I was mentally ill in order to protect my father's reputation. I heard about her conversations with my relatives.

When she couldn't convince them, she pivoted and asked, "Do you think he's mentally ill?" She portrays herself as an innocent and ignorant bystander, but I believe otherwise.

To my brother's credit, he immediately and emphatically defended my sound mind. It's ironic that a psychiatrist's mental status would need defending by my accountant brother from a mother bent on disparaging it.

Repeatedly, my mother admonishes my father, "Next time, don't touch anybody!" Next time? My father is now 90 years old. Did he lack enough opportunities to learn the difference between good vs. bad touch?

My father responds dismissively, "I can't! I'm not a robot!"

After talking at length about why he's the victim and apologizing repeatedly for not being wrong, not being loved, and not being responsible, he smiled a little and entreatingly said, "You're a psychiatrist. Just treat me like I'm your patient."

As a child, how many times did he make me his captive audience as he talked about himself for hours? I pitied him and wished there was a way for me to heal him just as I had healed other patients.

Still, despite all my training and years of conditioning, I said firmly, " I am not your psychiatrist. You are not my patient."

Both my parents deserve my compassion and understanding, but they are responsible for their own lives. Their decisions and actions reveal who they are, just like everyone else.

If victimhood inevitably leads to abusive choices or justifies abusive behaviors, then how do we explain all those who chose instead to be good and kind? How could cycles of abuse ever end?

No matter what we have suffered, I believe there is always a gap between our experiences and our behavior. Within that space lies the freedom and responsibility to choose who we will be.

After our meeting, as my brother and I sat in his cold car, he says, "Considering everything, I think that went quite well."

I laughed. He sounded like optimistic Westley in The Princess Bride when he entered the Fire Swamp with Buttercup. It had been a horrendously stressful hour. I was astonished by my father's masterful ability to guilt, lie, manipulate, gaslight, and evade.

However, my brother was right. We deserved gold stars for keeping our heads straight and intense emotions under control. And, I couldn't believe how bravely my brother stood up for me. He found his own voice!

As I write this story, my laptop sits on Mr. Good Woodword's swirling, lined surface. His story and history flow within each of those lines. He reminds us that terrible, unavoidable things can happen over the course of our lives.

One can be struck and stuck with hundreds of rusting nails, abandoned and devalued. The superficial measurements that define us may be reduced to some unflattering photos as we stand alone against a wall.

Yet, through faith and effort, we can use our experiences to create something amazingly beautiful, invaluable, and useful. In time, we too can be restored, treasured, and beloved.


The Holistic Psychiatrist Podcast (Ep. 52):

Why Do I Feel So Bad?
Understanding Psychiatric Medication Withdrawal in Less than 10 Minutes

Check out the teaser here.

Most people don’t really understand psychiatric medication withdrawal, so it’s easy to assume that all one has to do is lower the medication slowly and the body will do the rest.

That is why so many people fail to successfully get off their medications, just as people may fail in trying to quit smoking. Here’s a brief explanation of the nature of medication withdrawal—its effects on receptors, neurotransmitters, glands, immune system, and co-enzymes—in less than 10 minutes!

Click here to listen to the full episode of this podcast.
Click here for all The Holistic Psychiatrist Podcast episodes.