Affirmative Therapy

Tonight marks the Jewish New Year, Erev Rosh Hashanah, and I’ll probably head to the Progressive Reform Synagogue here in Palm Springs, where I’m living from Wednesday to Sunday to get writing done. I wasn’t raised Reform in the slightest—I like my Hebrew raw, less cooked—but it’s where the g**s are.

Why synagogue during the "Days of Awe," if I’m supposed to be ambivalent about “faith” after the “age of reason” (I guess ambivalence—thank you, Freud—is a kind of Jewish religion of its own, haha). I can’t lie. Some strain of Judaism runs deep in my—collective unconscious, you could say.

As a kid, my mother, you know her, Penny, she really marveled at me as a teenager, laying Tefillin (I was into leather, even back then), and that she couldn’t talk behind my back in Yiddish because I understood at least 50 percent of what she was saying? (Meyn zun, der eltster, er farbrakht tsu fil tseyt mit gevise bkhurim, ikh bin nisht azoy zikher farvas). Penny, without fail, lit candles every Friday night and made chicken matzah soup. We kinda sorta fasted on Yom Kippur, and I went to a Jewish camp, and even attended a few Hasidic Seminary things (all the cute boys dancing together: way fun).

Being Jewish, American, gay, and q***r is, hell, complicated–what it means to be all about “tikkun olam” in light of the wars happening in the Middle East. As you’d imagine, I have a lot of Jewish patients—many are gay, but not all, and many are Israelis, some Ashkenazic, others from Arab countries. Some people are very pro-Israel, to the point where even the critique against the rightwing government seen in the Israeli press would strike some as blasphemous; others disillusioned with what they had learned was “Zionism.” Everyone’s hurting and to varying degrees of vulnerability and defensiveness. I’m so proud that I’ve learned, the hard way, how to avoid agreeing or not agreeing without sounding like a hypocrite. I honestly do believe that the issue of how one feels—about oneself, about relationships—that’s where the real damage has been done by the invalidating repressive societal, generational and familial abuse. And recovering from numbness and spliting off the feelings about oneself–that’s where the greatest peace may come, if it’s to come.

I went to Israel last year to write about the protests against the right-wing takeover of the judiciary with a sense of hope for change—hope that’s since been shattered by the wars that followed.

I also happened to have been there for Yom Kippur, and my heart soared hearing Kol Nidre in an outdoor synagogue, an orthodox one, no less, where a le***an blew the shofar. I thought about how numinous it is to have a community to support that feeling of devotion. This Hebraic community connection around one’s sense of “godness” is very old. And yet, Gay Eros may be older, a lot older, a lot older! But, there have been too many inhibitions on that “intelligence” for a shared community vision to take off. I have the battle scars to show for my efforts haha (not so funny).

At the same time, I was having great difficulty with a staff person back in the States and had to call my clinical supervisor, Dr. George Bermudez, for emergency help when I came home from the shul. Neither he nor I could figure out a solution about “what to do!”. So he said, “Doug, ask your unconscious for a dream. I bet you’ll get some direction.”

Remember the story about Dorothy being taken by a twister and the house crashing into Oz, and even killing a witch? I won’t go into details, but the dream was like that. I woke up in a fright. OMG! Literally! It told me, whoever “it” was, how to proceed. And I proceeded accordingly.

That’s a new idea, even though they had dreams in the Bible. But the technology of how to work with our dreams as if they carried the greatest possible meaning independent of “reason” or “faith” in today’s world—that’s new.

Shanah Tovah. May we all find the courage to keep evolving wherever this next year (or the collective dream) takes us.

I was obliged to keep from her what I thought of her condition... She was not dead yet. But I was already alone."— Proust

I’ve been reading a bit of Proust every day, and today, this hit me like a ton of bricks. Walking along with his grandmother, he realizes she’s dying, but she’s still here—he’s already feeling the weight of her absence in their empty chit-chat. That feeling when you know someone’s still with you, but you’re already mourning them? That hit home for me.

As I head into fall, Libra season, with an eclipse coming, something about this passage feels like a reflection of where I am—this weird in-between space, balancing what’s slipping away and what’s still in front of me.

Life’s asking me to manage with better grace the messy stuff—loss, change, the things I don’t want to admit are coming, including the terror of good things (keep in mind, I’m Jewish). I have a few books that are coming out, and I feel the need to write a reflection on “Sacred Lips of the Bronx” and also some past s**t with groups; my mother is fading, memory going, Payton is turning 25, and am I a therapist first or an author first — can I do both with an equal heart? And not just the big things, but the small, everyday moments I’ve taken for granted until I realize they’re about to disappear. Is it possible to meditate on a moment that has been all but forgotten, the way one would try to run after a fleeting dream?

With election chaos, GOP controversies that don’t stick, pagers going off, birthdays around the corner, and all the things I can’t control, it’s easy to forget to reflect and widen the aperture. I need to read Peter Beinart’s new book, not out yet, “Being Jewish After the Destruction of Gaza: A Reckoning.” But Proust always reminds me that I’m never in just once. I’m always holding the past, the present, and a glimpse of what’s next. Life is fragile, but in that fragility, there’s a strange beauty—like, this is the time to pay attention.

Anyway, these are just some thoughts from a guy who spends too much time each morning trying to read and write before life (and fear of the moment) take over as he gets ready for his weekly sojourn from his writing salon in Palm Springs to seeing patients in Los Angeles, Mondays and Tuesdays.

What do you all think? Have you been feeling the pull of fall too?

Mourning or Melancholia?

"I was obliged to keep from her what I thought of her condition... She was not dead yet. But I was already alone."— Proust.

I’ve been reading a bit of Proust every day, and today, this hit me like a ton of bricks. Walking along with his grandmother, he realizes she’s dying, but she’s still here—he’s already feeling the weight of her absence. That feeling when you know someone’s still with you but already mourning them? That hit home for me.

As we head into fall, Libra season, with an eclipse coming, something about this passage feels like a reflection of where many people I know are—this weird in-between space, balancing what’s slipping away and what’s still in front of us.

Life’s asking me to work with the messy stuff—loss, change, the things I don’t want to admit are coming. I have a few books coming out and online classes on LGBT psychology, and I feel the need to write a reflection on “Sacred Lips of the Bronx,” my mother is fading, Payton is turning 25, and am I a therapist or an author first — can I do both with my heart? And not just the big things, but the small, everyday moments I’ve taken for granted until I realize they’re about to disappear. I wish I could read Peter Beinart's new book ("Being Jewish After the Destruction of Gaza: A Reckoning"). I like my new therapist, but she's pricey. I have some history I need to publish.

With election chaos, GOP controversies that don't seem to stick, pagers going off, birthdays around the corner, and all the things I can’t control, it’s easy to forget to reflect and widen the aperture -- and look around one's surroundings (inner and outer). But Proust reminds me: I’m never really in just one time. I’m always holding the past, the present, and a glimpse of what’s next. Life is fragile, but in that fragility, there’s a strange beauty—like, this is the time to pay attention.

Anyway, these are just some thoughts from a born on Shakespeare Avenue in the Bronx boy who spends his mornings thinking about life, death, and everything in between—as he prepares for his weekly sojourn from his writing apartment in Palm Springs to being a working man seeing patients in Los Angeles on Mondays and Tuesdays.

What do you all think? Have you been feeling the pull of fall, too?

I was packing for my two-day trip to Los Angeles to see patients when I stumbled upon this mind-blowing YouTube interview—nothing short of revolutionary. The interview featured Dr. Bandy X Lee, MD, MDiv, the Psychiatrist expert on violence who compiled Kelly's "owner's manual" on Trump and may have prevented nuclear war—brilliant. Please check this YouTube out on your own!

I went through the transcript and tried simplifying the discussion, but it was hard not to list every QUOTE. This woman knows her s**t! The analysis clarified why no one has been able to expose Trump so effectively until now. With her prosecutor’s instincts, Kamala Harris practically deployed techniques bordering on psychoanalysis. Her ability to handle him was no accident—it’s rooted in her deep understanding of dangerous personalities, the kind I’ve seen firsthand in my professional work with the court system. The problem is that the level of psychopathy Trump exhibits has been grossly mishandled for years. No one knew how to set the necessary boundaries, and it's been left to the criminal justice system to impose limits when this should have been done long ago. Harris’s approach wasn't just thoughtful—it was informed by psychoanalytic training that she must have had either covertly or overtly to become a decent prosecutor.

THE DEBATE AND ATTACKS — “ON LINKING!” (My Boy, BION~!)

Where Freud’s work centered on the role of the unconscious and early childhood in shaping adult neuroses, and Klein focused on the internalized good and bad objects (like parental figures) that children navigate, Bion took these concepts further, focusing on how we think and feel in real-time, especially when anxiety or trauma overwhelm us.

Harris’s ability to push Trump on abortion, crowd size, and even trivial comments like "eating cats" wasn’t just about policy. It was about exposing the cracks in his defensive structure—revealing how he struggles to maintain coherence when under emotional and psychological pressure. Trump’s attack on linking—his inability to connect his thoughts rationally and respond to reality—mirrors how cultural figures like Ronstadt and Swift are playing roles in further destabilizing his public image, pushing him deeper into his psychotic defenses.

Trump's defensive reactions during the debate can be interpreted as a **psychotic process**, in which his capacity to think clearly and link his thoughts to reality becomes compromised. When Harris used **healthy aggression** to expose Trump’s inconsistencies, such as his shifting stance on abortion or his reluctance to commit to Ukraine’s victory, she essentially put him under psychological stress. Trump, already navigating a fragile ego structure rooted in narcissism, responded by attacking the links between thought and reality. Instead of addressing the policy criticisms, he became distracted by personal attacks or irrelevant details, such as the size of his rally crowds.

In Bion’s terms, Trump’s *attack on linking”occurred when his ego was unable to process the anxiety stirred by Harris’s pointed critiques. For instance, when Harris pointed out that rally-goers walked out on him, she struck at Trump’s **False Self**—the inflated image he uses to defend against deeper insecurities. Unable to maintain coherence under this attack, Trump shifted the conversation away from policy, attempting to re-establish control over his image rather than engaging with the issues at hand. His defense mechanisms, particularly **denial** and **projection**, further disrupted his ability to link thoughts together in a rational or coherent way.

This **psychotic-like disintegration** is typical when the mind cannot tolerate anxiety or narcissistic injury. Trump’s inability to engage with substance and his repeated derailment of the debate back to self-affirmation reflects a breakdown in **reality-testing**—a hallmark of the **psychotic process**. His mind, unable to tolerate the aggressive reality Harris presented, sought refuge in a **regressive** mode of functioning, where defense mechanisms like denial, avoidance, and projection took precedence over rational thought and coherent debate.

Harris’s ability to trigger this unraveling can be seen as a deliberate or intuitive provocation of Trump’s **psychotic process**. By continually pressing him with substantive critiques (e.g., abortion, Ukraine), Harris exposed the gaps between Trump’s actions and his narrative. Her jabs about his rally crowds abandoning him and his incoherence on key issues acted as emotional provocations, increasing Trump’s anxiety. The more she pressed, the more Trump retreated into **psychotic defenses**, making it impossible for him to maintain a rational link between thought, emotion, and response.

Harris Pressing Trump on Abortion, Crowd Size, and Eating Cats

During the debate, Kamala Harris used what Bion would call healthy aggression to expose Trump’s inconsistencies on key issues like abortion, crowd size, and his bizarre comment about eating cats. Each time Harris pressed him—whether it was about his unclear stance on abortion or his obsession with crowd sizes—she triggered anxiety in Trump. This anxiety prevented him from linking his thoughts together rationally, as he became more focused on deflecting or minimizing the attack on his public persona, his False Self.

For example, when Harris pointed out how his crowds had started to shrink and even walked out on him, she attacked not just his policies but the very image he projected as an influential leader. In Trump’s world, the size of his rallies is not just about numbers; it’s an extension of his identity. Harris’s challenge here wasn’t just political—it was deeply personal, creating a moment of psychotic disintegration where Trump could no longer hold onto his narrative and scrambled to regain control through defensive maneuvers, avoiding the core of her critique.