Some books just have to be written. They function as a necessary reckoning with something that can only be processed by diving in. Childhood trauma and loss can spur that need to tell — to explore, explain, come to terms, find peace. What makes that approach even more compelling is when the process of discovery itself is part of the story. That’s what happens in Untangling: A Memoir of Psychoanalysis, a page turner of a book by Joan K. Peters.
Many things set this book apart: the writing is skilled, the narrative takes care to place us in time — which shifts back and forth frequently as the past informs the present. The sense of discovery can be thrilling or it can be devastating; there’s a shivery, unforgettable moment in her treatment when Peters realizes the truth behind a recurring nightmare. But what further sets the book apart is that it’s a rare bird indeed: an account of psychoanalysis from the patient’s (or analysand’s, in therapeutic parlance) viewpoint. There are few, if any, books that do this. It’s usually the psychoanalysts doing the talking — which only adds to the common view that psychoanalysis is an old, outmoded, drawn-out form of treatment.
Peters makes a strong case for psychoanalysis, debunking the old stereotypes and taking readers inside the process and the complex and close relationships between therapist and patient. As she reveals, it’s the only method of therapy that truly got to the roots of her pain and then helped her heal. The process takes a long, long time and requires tremendous commitment, but it has to. In Peters’ case, she needed two full courses of treatment with two separate psychoanalysts — years and years spent working with each, and decades between — to unlock what was stored in her psyche. She started in her twenties, prompted by her partner to face her demons: ” terrifying nightmares and bouts of black despair,” as she writes. She got as far as she could, but the demons were still there. In her sixties, still trapped by night terrors, she returned, working with another analyst, who enabled her to finally find peace.
Peters is a writer and a professor; she brings a keen eye, consideration for her reader, and an innate drive to uncover, investigate, and conduct a very thorough kind of accounting. She looks at herself (and indeed, exposes herself) with powerful clarity and a will to find the truth, even within the murkiest fragments of her memory. She’s willing to admit the strange shifts in how she regards her therapists — in fact, as she reveals, they’re part of the process. One of the byproducts (or necessities) of working so closely with an analyst is that patients form fierce attachments; the dynamics of this are beautifully explained in Peters’ book. Breaking the veil even further, she has one of the analysts write the afterword, which is a remarkable piece of writing on its own.
There is a happy ending in this book, which is a relief: by the end of it, I was truly rooting for Peters, whose childhood would have left anyone reeling. As she notes, it’s not only cataclysmic losses that hurt us. Small acts of emotional injustice can do incredible damage. By examining her subconscious, an agonizingly difficult process, she’s able to discover the damage done, come to terms with it, and finally put herself together. Clearly, it’s worth the effort.
Learn more at Untanglingjoan.com.
Garth Thomas