Help from Transactional Analysis

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Chapter 14

Some of my work as a therapist is with couples. When exploring the causes of problems in relationships, we often come across core beliefs (see my early chapters) which are at odds. These will usually have been taught and reinforced by the family of origin, usually completely unconsciously. One of my own, which has certainly caused me some difficulty in navigating relationships, is that if someone is 'right' for you, you will agree: hence, there will be no serious arguments. This is so massive in its compass that it is completely unworkable. What, agree on everything? Religion, politics, the best way to clean the sink? How on earth did I come to that conclusion?

The origin is obvious. My parents didn't argue in front of me. Never. Sometimes I could sense a bit of tension but I honestly never heard them disagree about anything. On religion, my mum went to church and my dad didn't object. Later in life, he went too. On politics, they said nothing explicit. Their view was that we have a secret ballot for a reason and that their political ideas were private. On cleaning the sink, my mum did it, no argument: it was a different age. I am sure they must have discussed things - but I wasn't aware of it. In front of me, they simply conducted the business of living in an amicable way, unless my dad told a ribald joke or recited a rude rhyme, in which case my mother would say, 'Geoffrey!' in a sharp, prim voice. He would chuckle and desist. I still know the rude rhymes - it's a pity it wasn't Shakespeare, but perhaps more fun.

And that's important. I learned the rhymes. A child's mind is like a sponge. I also learned the behaviour and added my own understanding to what was going on. Not 'These people choose to do any arguing in private' but 'Happily married people don't argue.'

This, to use the language of Transactional Analysis (TA), was part of my script - and it's a part that I had to unlearn in order not to bolt at the first sign of a disagreement with a potential partner. Eric Berne, the originator of TA defined script like this:

'A life plan made in childhood, reinforced by parents, justified by subsequent events and culminating in a chosen alternative.'

You may or may not warm to the concept that you 'made a life plan' but bear with me. Accepting that a plan was created, one way or another, is a useful idea. There are all sorts of exercises to identify your own script or life plan. One I particularly like is this:

What is the fairy story that you remember most vividly from childhood? Don’t overthink this – go with the first one that comes to mind. If you can’t think of a fairy story, what other story really ‘calls’ to you?

Now retell it.

Now retell it from each major character’s/significant feature’s point of view (eg. In Sleeping Beauty, the hedge that grows round the castle is a significant feature), but talk/write about yourself, in the first person, as if you are that character.

What do you notice from your retellings?

Ask yourself the following questions:

How does this story relate to the way I am living my life?

How am I like each of the main characters/significant features?

Who else in your life is like any of these characters/significant features?

Is there a moral or a message in this story that is impacting on your life now? If so how? Is it appropriate?

What do you think your subconscious is trying to bring to your attention be alerting you to this story?

What does your consideration of this story suggest is in your script?

What are you unhappy and happy with?

Is there anything that you would like to change?

Many years ago, I worked my way through this exercise, using my much-loved story 'The Princess and the Pea'.

It's easy to see the relation to my 'Happily married people don't argue' bit of script. As in so many fairy stories, the people getting married, don't even converse. In this case they are right for each other because they are royalty. They won't even be arguing about bedding, so long as there are no peas under the mattress, and let's face it, the staff will be responsible for that. It's all going to be happily ever after with no disagreements to blot the horizon.

It's also easy to see the relationship with my craving for gold stars. This princess has to prove she is a REAL princess: that she is special. For her, it's an easy enough task - just have a bad night if there's a pea under the pile of mattresses. She does. Job done. Worth proved and handsome prince provided.

So what was the life plan that I created? Perhaps something as simple as this:

I am special and I must prove it. I will also marry someone who is just right for me and I will know this because we won't argue.

There's more, of course, but it's less relevant to our topic here.

Becoming aware of your own script can be really helpful. The trouble is that script is immensely sticky. I have been writing on and off about achievement addiction for years now and it's still around as an issue for me - much less so than of yore, but it can still punch me into a panic of inadequacy from time to time. Becoming aware is the first step. The work for change is ongoing.

Berne says that our script is 'justified' by subsequent events. Maybe, as Ian Stewart and Vann Joines write in 'TA Today - an introduction to Transactional Analysis', it is clearer to see it this way: 'What we often do is interpret reality in our own frame of reference so that it appears to us to justify our script decisions.' In my own case, I was a clever child - not outstanding, but enough to get lot of comment about my talents and abilities, thus justifying my script decision that I was special. The trouble with having decided that you are or must be special is that you pretty quickly realise (unless you take the disastrous route of becoming narcissistic) that you aren't that special after all - and therein lies the road to achievement addiction - the vain attempt to prove how special you really are. One of Berne's explanations for the functions script serves is this:

'the infant's best strategy for surviving in a world which often seems hostile, even life-threatening.'

The survival of the fittest then - or in my case, the most special.

So what do we do about it? You will know by now that, in my opinion, an endless pursuit of Gold Stars, is no route to peace and contentment. If we are living a script, are we doomed? Not at all. I can only cover a few ideas here but work with a TA therapist can be hugely liberating, if you feel stuck in a particularly debilitating script.

Let's look at another of Eric Berne's ideas - that of life positions. They can be summarised like this:

1. I'm OK, you're OK.

2. I'm not OK, you're OK.

3. I'm OK, you're not OK.

4. I'm not OK, you're not OK.

They represent fundamental stances that we take up about the essential value we perceive in ourselves and others. It's not simply about what we think or ourselves and others on a day-to-day basis - it's about the foundations of our own script.

If you are troubled by achievement addiction, then your script is probably founded on 2. 'I'm not OK, you're OK' or 3. 'I'm OK, you're not OK'.

Either:

2.You feel threatened by the idea that others are superior to you, so you must keep proving you are OK by achieving more and more.

Or:

3.You believe that you are superior to others but you have to keep working very hard to maintain that superiority.

Both are exhausting. Just imagine how relaxing it must feel to believe that you are OK and others are too!

A third of Berne's helpful ideas is that of script process. Fascinatingly, there are only six patterns of script process that people live out, regardless of their culture or nationality. The six are:

Until

After

Never

Always

Almost

Open-ended

The concept here is that our script will have one of these patterns. The pattern underlying achievement addiction is probably 'Until'. Berne helpfully illustrates each script process with a Greek myth. In the case of 'Until', it is the story of Hercules, who couldn't be promoted to being a demi-god, without completing a set of arduous tasks. Using the words of my own script, he has to 'prove he is special' - just like my real Princess. Hercules, poor guy, had more to contend with than a pea. One of his tasks was to clean a mountain of manure out of the King's stables. The motto of the 'Until' script is 'I can't have fun until I've finished my work' - and of course, for the Gold Star addict, the work is never done. One task, qualification or prize is completed or won and the next immediately appears.

The solution according to TA? Go ahead and have fun, even before you've finished your work. In the words of Daniel Casriel: 'Ride the pony without waiting till you've finished cleaning out the stables.' Ouch! I can feel my own resistance - that's a good sign that we are onto something here.

As always, there's a balance to be struck. As always, I am not advocating a life free of responsibilities and duties. Leaving the pony to wallow in its own muck forever is not what we want. Considering our own script and how it might be affecting us to our detriment, certainly is. Then the work is about changing the habits and thinking of a life-time. As ever, that will take repetition and more repetition. Changing the neural pathways created and reinforced by our scripts is laborious but worth it in the end. So go ride the pony and forget the shit - at least sometimes!

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