Tag: identity

  • Between Safety and Risk

    Exploring Another Way of Reading Freud

    Freud’s psychosexual stages can sound strange when reduced to notes about sucking, toilet training, masturbation and forbidden desire. Perhaps part of the difficulty lies in what he meant by sexuality. He was not always describing sexuality as adults experience it. He was trying to connect bodily pleasure with attachment, frustration, independence and identity.

    Freud may have noticed something important about the emotional intensity of childhood while interpreting that intensity through the sexual framework he had developed. What might happen if we viewed his theory through a different lens?

    What if some of what Freud understood as sexual desire could also be explored as attachment, separation and the gradual movement from safety into risk?

    The oral stage: can I trust the world?

    During infancy, much of a baby’s experience centres on the mouth. Babies suck, taste, bite and chew. Through the mouth, they receive nourishment, comfort and contact while also beginning to explore what exists beyond themselves.

    Freud wondered whether experiences during this period could influence later habits such as smoking, nail-biting, chewing pencils, kissing or overeating. These associations remain speculative and should not be treated as straightforward explanations of adult behaviour.

    Yet the oral stage may still offer an interesting question:

    Will the world respond when I need something?

    A baby depends on others for food, warmth and reassurance. The person who repeatedly responds may become the baby’s earliest experience of safety. This is often the mother, though it could be any consistent primary caregiver.

    Perhaps the importance of the mouth is not only that it provides pleasure. It is also where trust and dependence first meet the outside world.

    The anal stage: what may I control?

    During toddlerhood, children become increasingly aware of bodily functions. Toilet training introduces ideas of holding, releasing, timing, privacy and approval. Something that once happened automatically becomes an area in which the child may exercise control.

    Freud connected experiences during this stage with later tendencies towards rigidity, withholding, disorder or carelessness. His proposed connections are difficult to establish, but the symbolism may be more useful than the personality categories.

    Could this stage be partly about discovering what belongs to the self?

    The toddler is also learning to say no, mine and I’ll do it. Retaining and releasing might form one small part of a much larger movement towards autonomy.

    The questions raised during this period may continue in different forms:

    What belongs to me? What can I control? When is it safe to let go?

    Perhaps the struggle is not really about cleanliness or bodily waste. It may be one of the first negotiations between a child’s emerging will and the expectations of other people.

    The phallic stage: why the phallus?

    Between approximately three and six, children often become curious about bodies, anatomical differences, reproduction and the taboo language surrounding bodily functions. They may touch themselves, ask direct questions or display jealousy when a parent gives attention to someone else.

    Freud called this the phallic stage. The term immediately places the male body at the centre of development, which raises questions of its own. Why should agency, movement or power be represented by the phallus? Does that reflect something universal about childhood, or something about the culture and period in which Freud developed his theory?

    If we temporarily treat the phallus as a symbol rather than an anatomical organ, could it represent outward movement, agency or the courage to venture beyond the familiar?

    And if the mother—or another primary caregiver—has become associated with safety, could the child be negotiating between the desire to remain protected and the impulse to explore?

    This does not mean that mothers necessarily provide safety while fathers provide risk. A father may be the child’s safest person. A mother may encourage independence and adventure. One parent may perform several functions, and these experiences can also come through grandparents, siblings, teachers and the child’s own curiosity.

    Still, the symbolic contrast raises an interesting possibility. Could development involve learning to move away from safety without believing that love will be withdrawn?

    Another reading of the Oedipus conflict

    Freud believed that the young boy unconsciously desired his mother and experienced his father as a rival. Fear of the father supposedly led the boy to identify with him, contributing to the development of the superego and a male identity.

    A related idea, later called the Electra complex by Carl Jung, described the girl as desiring her father and competing with her mother. Freud’s understanding of girls and women was strongly shaped by the assumptions of his time, and many aspects of the theory are no longer persuasive.

    Young children may say:

    “I’m going to marry Mummy.”

    “Daddy belongs to me.”

    “Don’t kiss her. Kiss me.”

    How should we interpret such declarations? Do children mean desire in anything resembling its adult sense? Might they instead be expressing attachment, possessiveness or anxiety about losing a special position?

    A young child may not yet understand marriage as an adult partnership. Marriage might simply mean permanent love: You will always belong with me.

    What Freud described as rivalry could perhaps also be a response to discovering that the caregiver has relationships and desires beyond the child. The child is no longer the centre of that person’s entire world—if they ever were—and this may be difficult to accept.

    The third person in the relationship, traditionally represented by the father, interrupts the imagined completeness of the mother-child bond. But could this interruption also open the child’s world?

    If the caregiver exists separately from the child, then perhaps the child can gradually become separate too.

    The question may not always be:

    Which parent does the child desire?

    It could sometimes be:

    Can I become separate without losing the person who makes me feel safe?

    Latency: practising life beyond the family

    Freud proposed five psychosexual stages rather than four. Between the phallic and genital stages, he placed the latency period, roughly covering the school years until puberty.

    He believed sexual energy became less visible during this period and was redirected into learning, friendship, play and competence. Another interpretation might be that the child is practising how to belong beyond the original family.

    Friends become increasingly important. Teachers and other adults acquire influence. The child discovers skills, rules, hierarchies and social identities that do not come entirely from home.

    Perhaps the question of this stage is:

    Can I enter a larger world without losing myself?

    Even this will vary enormously between children and cultures. Some children may experience school as expansion; others may experience it as conformity or separation imposed before they are ready.

    The genital stage: intimacy after separation

    Freud’s genital stage begins around puberty, when sexual interest develops in a more recognisably adult form. He believed that successful development would lead towards mutual heterosexual relationships.

    His treatment of homosexuality as the result of unresolved development is outdated. Sexual orientation should not be understood as a failed resolution of childhood conflict.

    There may nevertheless be something worth exploring in Freud’s interest in how early relationships affect later intimacy. Could adults sometimes look to partners for the safety, approval or completion once sought from parents? Might some conflicts arise when a partner is unconsciously expected to repair an old wound or provide unconditional parental reassurance?

    Not every adult difficulty needs to be traced back to childhood, and human relationships are unlikely to fit one developmental explanation. Yet it may be useful to ask what we are hoping another person will provide.

    Can we experience intimacy without possession? Can we depend on someone without asking them to become our entire source of security? Can love include both attachment and freedom?

    Do we carry safety with us?

    Perhaps the mother and father in psychoanalytic theory can sometimes be read as functions rather than fixed people.

    The maternal function might represent being held, nourished and welcomed. The paternal or phallic function might represent separation, uncertainty and movement into a wider world. These descriptions are culturally loaded, however. They may reveal as much about traditional ideas of motherhood and fatherhood as they do about childhood itself.

    Perhaps we do not need to preserve the gendered division in order to explore the underlying movement.

    A child may need both secure attachment and opportunities to venture. Too little safety could make exploration frightening. Too little freedom could turn protection into confinement. But even this balance cannot be prescribed in the same way for every child.

    Might healthy development involve leaving and returning repeatedly? A child wanders away, looks back and discovers that the trusted person is still there. Over time, perhaps some experience of safety becomes internal. The child may venture further because connection no longer depends entirely on physical closeness.

    Adults may continue making similar movements. A new relationship, migration, parenthood, bereavement or a change of identity can return us to old questions:

    Is it safe to leave?

    Will I still belong if I change?

    Can I enter the unknown without abandoning where I came from?

    I do not know whether this interpretation explains Freud better or simply takes his theory somewhere else. Perhaps his sexual reading and this attachment-based reading illuminate different parts of the same emotional territory. Perhaps neither can fully contain the complexity of childhood.

    But changing the central question may allow another conversation to begin.

    Instead of asking only what or whom the child desires, we might ask:

    How does a child leave safety without losing love?

    And perhaps growing up is not a final departure from dependence. It may be the continuing practice of moving between safety and risk, attachment and freedom, home and the world beyond it.

  • Make Room for Your Contradictions

    On rebellion, belonging, curiosity and the freedom of not being one thing

    Human beings rarely fit neatly into one identity. A person can be rebellious and gentle, independent and deeply connected, sceptical and spiritual. The activist and the peacemaker may live within the same person. So may the punk rocker and the nun.

    Perhaps maturity is not about choosing one acceptable version of ourselves and silencing the rest. It may be about learning how our apparently contradictory qualities can work together.

    Rebellion without reflection can become destruction. Peace without courage can become passive acceptance. Independence without connection can become isolation, while belonging without independence can become conformity. Life appears to ask us to keep moving between these forces, searching for a balance that may never remain still for long.

    Question without closing your heart

    Questioning established beliefs can be a form of learning. Many customs and institutions that now appear outdated once survived because people were discouraged from examining them. Progress often begins when someone asks why things must continue as they are.

    Yet questioning can develop its own rigidity. A person who distrusts every accepted explanation may become as closed-minded as someone who never questions authority. Curiosity asks more of us than automatic disbelief. It requires us to investigate ideas we dislike as well as those that confirm what we already suspect.

    It may also require listening to people whose understanding of the world unsettles us.

    Listening does not mean agreement. Nor does empathy require us to approve of every belief or behaviour. It means trying to understand the experiences, fears and hopes beneath another person’s position. A story can sometimes create a human connection where argument has produced only resistance.

    Someone we have dismissed as hateful, ignorant or impossible may have a story we have never heard. That story might not change our conclusions, but it could change the way we hold them.

    Labels simplify communication, but they can also end curiosity. Once someone has been reduced to a political category, diagnosis or social identity, we may stop meeting the person. Peacemaking begins by refusing to believe that a label tells us everything worth knowing.

    Listen for what has not been said

    Deep listening is more than remaining silent until it is our turn to speak. It involves noticing hesitation, contradiction, emotion and absence. What has been carefully explained? What has been avoided? What might someone be struggling to express?

    The impulse to advise can interrupt this process. Advice often feels like help to the person giving it, while feeling like another demand to the person receiving it. Before suggesting a solution, we might ask whether a solution has actually been requested.

    Empathy becomes practical when it respects the other person’s agency. Instead of assuming what would help, we can ask. Instead of rescuing, we can accompany. A need to become the hero can sometimes disguise itself as compassion.

    Genuine care leaves room for another person to remain the author of their own life.

    Clear out the inner cupboards

    Physical clutter is visible. We can see what no longer fits, what is broken and what has not been used for years. Mental and emotional clutter is less obvious.

    We carry inherited beliefs, old resentments, outdated fears and identities that once protected us but may now restrict us. Some ideas entered our lives so early that they feel like parts of our personality. We may never have consciously chosen them.

    An inner clear-out does not require rejecting everything from the past. It means examining what we are carrying.

    Does this belief still make sense?

    Is this fear protecting me from a real danger or an old one?

    Am I living by my values or reacting against someone else’s?

    What might become possible if I released the need to be right about who I have always been?

    We can keep what remains useful, repair what has been damaged and let some things end. Inner decluttering creates room for new knowledge without demanding that we become entirely new people.

    Belong to yourself without standing alone

    Self-reliance can be powerful, particularly for anyone who has spent years waiting for external permission. Learning to trust our judgement may allow us to make choices that fit our values rather than the expectations surrounding us.

    But self-reliance can become another absolute. Human beings develop through relationships. We need support, collaboration, challenge and care. Asking for help need not mean surrendering responsibility for our lives.

    Perhaps the aim is neither complete independence nor total dependence. It is interdependence: the ability to stand within ourselves while remaining connected to others.

    We can belong nowhere and everywhere. We can stand alone and stand together. One does not necessarily cancel the other.

    Let rebellion grow up with you

    Rebellion is often associated with youth, but its most useful qualities need not be abandoned with age. Adults can continue questioning authority, resisting injustice and refusing expectations that diminish human life.

    What may change is the form rebellion takes.

    Mature rebellion can be imaginative rather than merely oppositional. It does not always need an enemy. It can create alternatives, open conversations and demonstrate another way of living. It can refuse shame without humiliating anyone else.

    Responsibility does not have to extinguish rebellion. It can give rebellion direction.

    The question may no longer be only, “What am I against?” It may become:

    What am I willing to create, practise and protect?

    Healthy rebellion makes room for evidence and revision. It accepts that conviction and uncertainty can coexist. It may speak boldly while remaining capable of saying, “I was wrong,” or, “I need to understand this better.”

    Keep learning outside the approved routes

    Education can happen in classrooms, but learning refuses to remain there. It occurs through work, friendship, parenthood, migration, grief, mistakes, travel, stories and conversations with strangers.

    Formal education can introduce ideas and methods that expand our understanding. It can also make knowledge feel as though it belongs only to experts. Yet curiosity does not require a qualification. No institution owns the human desire to find out.

    Writing can be part of this process. We do not always write because we already know what we think. Sometimes we write to discover it. The unfinished sentence can lead us somewhere the finished opinion never would.

    Read widely. Follow questions into unfamiliar places. Seek evidence, but do not confuse academic language with wisdom. Remain willing to learn from books, research and people whose knowledge was gained through living.

    A degree may certify a particular kind of education. It cannot contain all the ways a person becomes thoughtful.

    Choose a vision, not a rigid plan

    Life frequently refuses to follow the plan made for it. Unexpected relationships, losses, opportunities and changes of direction disturb even our most careful arrangements.

    A vision may offer more freedom than a fixed plan. A plan says exactly how life should unfold. A vision asks what qualities we want to carry into whatever unfolds.

    Perhaps the vision is to remain curious. To act with courage. To create rather than merely criticise. To treat people with dignity without abandoning discernment. To leave situations a little more humane than we found them.

    The route can change while the deeper direction remains.

    Instigate love

    Love need not be passive or sentimental. It can be a disruptive social force.

    To instigate love may mean refusing the invitation to dehumanise an opponent. It may mean listening where ridicule would be easier, offering repair after conflict or protecting someone without taking possession of their voice.

    Love and rebellion are not necessarily opposites. Some of the most meaningful acts of rebellion begin with a refusal to stop caring.

    Neither are activism and peacemaking mutually exclusive. Activism may expose what has been ignored; peacemaking may create the conditions in which people can remain present long enough to change it. One raises the alarm. The other helps people stay in the room.

    Perhaps we need both energies within us: the courage to disturb an unjust peace and the patience to build a more honest one.

    There is no need to reduce ourselves to one identity. We can be questioning and compassionate, playful and responsible, fierce and tender. We can revise our beliefs without betraying ourselves. We can grow older without becoming finished.

    Keep reading. Keep listening. Keep clearing out what no longer serves life. Tell stories that make strangers human to one another. Challenge what deserves to be challenged and remain curious about what you might have misunderstood.

    Be rebellious enough to think for yourself—and peaceful enough to let other people do the same.

  • The Lost Boys of Europe

    Europe worries about many things.

    War.
    Migration.
    Economic uncertainty.
    Political polarisation.

    But there is another problem hiding in plain sight.

    A growing number of boys and young men seem lost.

    Not evil.
    Not broken.
    Not dangerous.

    Lost.

    They are growing up in a culture that tells them what not to be far more often than it tells them what they can become.

    Many are disconnected from meaningful rites of passage. Some grow up without strong male role models. Others struggle to find purpose, belonging, or a clear sense of identity. They spend more time online than in communities, more time-consuming images of life than living it.

    And yet we often speak about them only when something goes wrong.

    When they become radicalised.
    When they become violent.
    When they withdraw completely.

    By then we are no longer asking how they became lost. We are simply reacting to the consequences.

    The Need for Purpose

    Human beings need more than freedom.

    We need purpose.

    Historically, cultures offered young men pathways into adulthood. The details differed, but the message was similar:

    You belong.

    You matter.

    Here is your responsibility.

    Modern societies are less certain.

    Many traditional expectations have disappeared, which has created new freedoms. But freedom without direction can become confusion.

    A young man may know what he wants to avoid.

    He may have no idea what he wants to become.

    The Digital Mirror

    Social media has intensified the problem.

    Young men are constantly shown images of success, wealth, status, and desirability.

    They see the finished product.

    They rarely see the struggle.

    The result is a widening gap between expectation and reality.

    Some respond by giving up.

    Others search for belonging wherever they can find it.

    And belonging is one of the most powerful human needs.

    When healthy communities fail to provide it, unhealthy ones often step in.

    What Boys Need

    Most boys do not need to be fixed.

    They need to be seen.

    They need boundaries without humiliation.
    Responsibility without shame.
    Guidance without domination.

    They need adults willing to take them seriously before their frustration hardens into resentment.

    And perhaps most of all, they need a sense that they have a place in the future.

    A society that cannot imagine a positive future for its boys should not be surprised when its boys struggle to imagine one for themselves.