Turning thoughts into connection
From electricity to philosophy
Barry Appelbaum and Laurel Wittman, from Well Spouse, have both been generously talking me through how (and where) to foster a vibrant online community for caregivers. Barry's wife has aphasia and his offhandedly mentioning this came back to me later as I was walking the dog.
I realized that I don't know the names of any of the places I spend my time in Lisbon. I know the names of cafes where I've met people, when we had to exchange information about a meeting spot. When I'm deciding where to walk with the dog, I don't need names for places. It’s only when I’m trying to explain it to someone else that I have to rely on awkward phrases like “the park between the basilica and the cemeteries, before you get to the French neighborhood.” In my mind these places exist as pure thoughts, the firing of synapses for a concept.
The frequency at which people talk about the milestone of thinking in Portuguese or dreaming in Portuguese makes me realize how English does not feel like my native language. I'm capable of thinking in English. This is an effort I reserve for moments when I want to practice the translation from thought into English, to make sure I express myself well. Or I use English to recite the code to the front door or a shopping list to help me remember them.
I'm not capable of holding a conversation in Portuguese, so these days I think in Portuguese more often than I do in English. I silently practice what I'm going to ask for at the store counter and anticipate possible responses. The idea of trying to speak by translating thought into English and then English into Portuguese seems exhausting.
People’s descriptions of aphasia hint at the idea that English isn’t anyone’s native language. You can’t struggle to recall the right word or have someone’s name just outside your grasp if you think in English. The language of thought is there, it simply isn’t as easily shared. If someone thought directly in English, aphasia would leave them unable to think.
When people allude to the idea that they think in English, that they actually hear their thoughts like the narrator in a film, that they have conversations in their head with an interlocutor of their own creation, that they see their memories as films inside their minds, I understand why the brain has such incredibly high caloric demands. While the widely accepted theories of how we function in the world rely on these abilities to construct a multi-sensory world inside our minds, the fact that I'm capable of functioning suggests that they're not strictly necessary. My seemingly vastly more efficient brain has not spread to become the norm. Efficiency is a human priority, not a priority of nature.
I may not need English to think, but I still need English in order to connect with other people. It's the imperfect tool that I use to communicate ideas. It’s when I’m alone that the utility of English is vastly diminished. It's not even particularly necessary in order to convey basic things, as anyone who has spent time with people who don't speak the same language knows. We can communicate quite a lot of practical information without a common spoken language. It's concepts that are tricky.
If I'm using English on my own, it's most often to shift from the real into the theoretical. Translating thoughts into English, especially written English, is a process that invites me to connect an experience into the entirety of my life and then into the larger philosophical framework. It's foreign enough to provide a distance that the pure electricity of my mind doesn't allow. When I'm thinking in English in order to conceptualize things it's nothing like my spoken English. It's jumpy and in an intense shorthand. For me, writing things out is an entirely different process.
Nana Ariel explored the idea of speaking aloud to ourselves as a technology for thinking for Psyche a few months ago. It's the translation process that makes speaking to someone or journaling so effective as a mechanism to gain insights. Speaking and writing provides us with a distance from the situation, an ability to see ourselves somewhat dispassionately. It allows us to zoom out of our own emotional experience.
In her conversation with Tudor Petcu, Donna Thomson mentioned how transformative writing her first book was. The process of writing her story helped her process the experience. She notes how it wasn't enough to simply tell her story. Making sense of it philosophically, figuring out how her experience fits into social forces and humankind, was a critical part of the path to healing.
You don’t need to publish a book to use this path to healing. It’s a style of writing, something we can all access. In the early days of The Caregiver Space, we had online journals. With changes in technology (and by that I mean spambots and DNS attacks) we had to let go of this tool. I’m looking forward to Adrienne bringing back The Page Listens. In the meantime, there are plenty of journaling tools, including pen and paper.
As much as the groups aren’t the same as a journal, there are overlaps. There’s something about expaining a situation clearly enough for someone else to understand that’s therapeutic and triggers insights. Each word we share with another person is a step outside of a certain side of ourselves. There’s something incredibly powerful about coming across something that resonates so strongly it feels like you could have written it yourself.
Sometimes we’re using English to connect with other people. Sometimes we’re using English to connect to other parts of ourselves.
The Well Spouse Association is a fantastic organization for people caring for a romantic partner. During the pandemic they shifted their meetings online, making it easy to get involved even if there isn’t a chapter near you. They’ve also done a lot to ensure that their groups are welcoming and inclusive to the entire spousal caregiving community, including young people, the LGBTQ+ community, and people in nontraditional relationships. Well Spouse has a paid membership program which starts at $10 a year.
You can watch Tudor Petcu’s interview with Donna Thomson on YouTube. They discuss the difference between pain and suffering, suffering as a path to understanding our own power, suffering as a call to reorient our lives, and how to discover freedom within constraints.
You can sign up for The Page Listens, which will also be hosted on Substack.
Brad Stulberg provides us with A Brief Guide to Navigating Periods of Disorder.
Laura Mauldin’s recent piece in the LA Review of Books really resonated with me:
“Here is what I can admit: I live in a constant battle against a spiral of weaponized regret. I dissect past moments when I could have done something differently. Grief tricks you into searching for ways to undo loss, to find an escape. It can make even the most treacherous and unlikely way out seem worth pursuing.”