Professionals in their chosen fields, they began to take on inflexible routines. His work week focused toward the weekend when he would conduct formal services. Meanwhile there was plenty to keep him busy Monday through Friday with meetings, classes, instructions, and counseling.
Martha evaluated, showed, and sold houses morning, noon, and night, weekdays and weekends.
In time almost everything in their lives became subject to scheduling. When they might balance their checkbooks, when they might eat together, when they were able to squeeze in some precious quality time, when they might enjoy sex.
Sexual expression had had a playful, spontaneous character for only a few months after they were first married. They did not engage in intercourse before marriage. Their honeymoon was all either of them could have expected. Soon thereafter scheduling became a limiting and controlling factor. Regulating so natural an expression of their love so early in their marriage exacted a price. The price-a rigid formality plus the sublimation of powerful instincts-they were willing to pay in exchange for the financial security they were building. Somehow, Martha seemed more willing to sublimate than David, though it was not easy for either and led to arguments-which grew less frequent as time proved them futile.
Enter Pamela Richardson.
Pam Richardson was one of many parishioners who came to David regularly for instruction or counseling or both. In Pam’s case it was counseling.
Pam had been an orphan, adopted at age five by a couple who should not have been allowed to adopt anyone. It wasn’t physical abuse, it was psychological deprivation. Her adoptive parents withheld love, approval, and encouragement. She became very withdrawn at an age when she could not absorb so radical a privation.
As an external manifestation of her inner insecurity, Pam developed a facial tic that affected only the left side of her face. So, when she experienced almost any emotion-happiness, for instance-only the right side of her face reacted. This produced an admittedly grotesque abnormality.
The man she learned to call “father” laughed and ridiculed her. The woman she learned to call “mother” wasn’t any help. She saw it her duty to be supportive of her husband. Pam came in a distant second.
However, mother did take the little girl to a doctor who, by testing, ruled out any physical cause for the abnormality. For no obvious reason, the doctor predicted that the little girl would recover from this psychosomatic illness when she reached her fifteenth birthday.
Whether he had the insight of the psychic, was extraordinarily inspired-or lucky-or whether it was the power of suggestion that made it a self-fulfilling prophecy, at her fifteenth birthday Pam’s tic vanished, never to reappear. But her depression continued, even intensifying, as she no longer had the external defense mechanism of the tic as an escape hatch.
It was in a state of deep depression that Pamela first visited Father David Benbow. So deep was her depression it bordered on despair. David came very close to referring her to a specialist immediately. He probably would have had he not been taking a course in pastoral psychology at the time. As part of the course, he was assigned a professional psychologist who monitored the cases he was then handling. Thus, through him, Pamela in effect had the benefit of professional care without paying for it.
In the beginning, David’s monitor was equally apprehensive about Pamela’s condition. David was advised to try supportive therapy in massive doses to try to generate some sort of positive self-image, which seemed to be totally lacking.
So it began.
David could not have imagined a plainer young woman. Pamela never wore any sort of makeup. She always appeared tired, virtually exhausted. This she attributed to a recurring nightmare that made her reluctant to fall asleep.
In the repetitive dream, she was backstage in a large auditorium that was filled with strangers. She was, very reluctantly, competing in some sort of pageant. The other candidates (for what, it was never clear) were beautiful, intelligent women her own age. She dreaded going on stage where she was certain to be humiliated.
Eventually it would be her turn. She didn’t even know what she was supposed to do when she stepped through the curtains. She never entered onto the stage willingly. She was pushed out. Once on stage, people began to laugh at her. One in particular, a strange half-man, half-animal that resembled a hyena, laughed her to scorn. (Her father, David wondered, who, by his constant, brutal ridicule, had ravaged her fragile ego strength like a scavenger?) At this point, she would waken in a cold sweat and fight off sleep for the remainder of the night.
David and his monitor studied this nightmare in great detail. Its manifest content seemed unmistakable. It was her father, more than anyone else, who subverted her self-confidence. As an orphan, she needed to be warmly accepted by someone very special. Instead, she was rejected by a “mother and father,” the very people one would expect to be most nurturing and loving.
She was, then, the ugly duckling in unfair competition with others with whom she ought to be able to compete fairly. She wanted to stay secluded from everyone-backstage-but society kept demanding that she mount the stage of the workaday world.
She couldn’t escape. Not in the real world, not even in sleep.
One more item: On the rare occasion David could get her to laugh, she would reflexively cover the left side of her mouth as if the early tic were still present. It wasn’t, of course, but subliminally did she imagine it was?
It was slow, painstaking therapy. David at times felt as if he were monkey-in-the-middle between his monitor and his client. Gradually, however, his nonjudgmental acceptance and encouragement began having an effect.
The first sign was so subtle, David almost missed it.
For the very first time-in his contact with her, and, in fact, in many years-she wore the softest hint of lipstick. But, thank God, he did recognize what for her was a sizable, if tentative step. He complimented her effusively. She smiled broadly, covering the left side of her face.
Thereafter, she wore makeup regularly and charmingly. David never failed to notice and compliment her on her appearance. Next she began wearing more attractive clothing. David was amazed at the external transformation. She was really quite an attractive woman. Not a ravishing beauty, but one who would catch the eye of the discerning man.
Progress came more rapidly now. The day she laughed openly without even an attempt to cover her face, David and his monitor celebrated later with a toast of an inexpensive wine.
Finally, she vanquished the nightmare. She was unsure at first that it was gone permanently. But night after night of peaceful sleep convinced her it was over.
With no regression, in sight, it seemed safe to declare her cured. A psychoanalyst might have kept her in therapy for years more. But in the school of psychology to which David and his monitor belonged, the sessions were over. He agreed with his monitor that it was over.
But it wasn’t.
She kept making appointments with him. He kept scheduling her appointments. They always found something to talk about. The forty-five minute hours became fifty-minute hours. Then a full, honest sixty-minute hour.
Her transformation had been slow, inchmeal. Something like those hair color formulas that supposedly darken gray hair so imperceptibly that no one notices that the user is “peeling years away.” Nonetheless, Pamela’s transformation had taken place and was continuing. Since she had begun using makeup stylishly and wearing flattering clothes, she had very definitely changed from a plain, all but invisible person to an appealing young woman.