When I was in my 20s and early 30s I never gave even occasional thought to becoming a parent. Near as I could tell there was little emotional/intellectual upside and BIG downside. Not to mention the $400,000 (currently) it cost to raise a kid and send them to a decent college.
But at some point something changed in my brain, something no one explained to me or prepared me for – unlearning happened. My mother’s favorite saying, “Kids make me n’ern (crazy),” faded away and became replaced by new learning supplied by the likes of Penelope Leach and T. Berry Brazelton (popular baby doctors in vogue at the time). Becoming a father produced vasopression-flooded dreams filled with avid curiosity, great mystery and small exciting adventures. Who was this being I’d helped bring into the world? Whom was I going to spend many years helping her become?
Associations Make it Happen
The brain is a massive, matrix-like, associative organ and it learns by making and strengthening connections between nodal points (neurons). Literally. Neurons that fire during any learning experience fire together in groups and become wired together. This is the well-known Hebb’s Rule. The next time any single neuron in the group fires, they will all fire – until they no longer do. This unwiring or disconnectivity is called unlearning and without it, we would all very quickly run out of usable network space in our matrix-brains. New learning would be extremely difficult, if not impossible to accomplish. These neurons that wire together can be thought of as the arterial connections you can readily see on Google Maps.
When we love a person or a pet or a place, over time, in stages, these connections grow in massive complexity and begin to look like the streets of Manhattan. Many, many experiences with the beloved begin to make more and more connections and take up more and more real estate in the brain, resulting in increasingly detailed neural maps.
Unlearning is most active and clearly evident as children go through developmental stages – from puberty to adolescence, for example. Subjects and skills we mastered in elementary school like reading and multiplication consolidate and take up less space in the brain. More neural real estate becomes freed up for learning middle school subjects like history and algebra. Leaving home and going off to college involves substantial unlearning as kids begin the work of transforming from a learned history of being our children into strong, integrated, independent young adults.
Grief as Unlearning
When our kids do go off to college, or a partner dies or a relationship results in separation or divorce, our neural map – the connections we’ve built over time with that person – needs to begin to unravel. Until and unless they do, building a new or different, sustainable relationship becomes more than a little challenging. This is partly why rebound relationships have relatively short lifespans – too much neural real estate still contains connections holding memories of old emotional habits and routines with the previous partner. The successful, active dissolution of those memories literally retracts and disconnects the neurons in our brain from one another. This essential process, similar to unweaving a cloth tapestry, is unlearning.
Unlearning is vital for living a happy, healthy life. As Ephron Rosenzweig, Carol Barnes and Bruce McNaughton at the University of Arizona have discovered, it is essential that we unlearn in order to make room for new memories. That’s why it’s important for all of us, but especially children, to actively grieve. Because their networks are significantly less mature, devoting large tracts of neural real estate to sustaining ungrieved losses early in their lives can significantly compromise and delay normal development. Depending upon the nature and the number involved, ungrieved losses can compromise impulse control and immune function, leading to frequent illness and even early death. Those seemingly random, impulsive thoughts we have of jumping off a cliff or running our car into a tree or into oncoming traffic – my suspicion is that those thoughts are very likely connected to ungrieved losses – unlearning looking to happen.
We sometimes think of people who’ve suffered great losses as dying of a broken heart. Their dying might be more accurately described as the result of a broken brain – and however that may impact the heart. Very often, if it actually doesn’t kill us, our grief unlearned, turns our heart into our strongest organ.









In the light of current brain science research, most of my childhood heroes would very likely turn out to be clinically diagnosable, the inevitable result of experiencing one brain-disorganizing trauma after another from mishaps while tearing across the Texas plain. Why, for example, did Jim Bowie need to openly walk through the world carrying a three inch wide, sixteen inch long knife named after him everywhere he went? Or why did Bret Maverick wander from town to town acting out his gambling addiction with a thousand dollar bill pinned under his coat collar. Banks were around then and paid interest on savings, too. And the defense of the Alamo? Clearly Bowie and Davy Crockett were engaged in pretty distorted thinking. I’ve been to the Alamo and the walls around it are barely six feet high – completely indefensible. Their folly was undoubtedly dissociative “suicide by
I occasionally used to think about spending time in prison (what part of my personal trauma history might be responsible for that line of thinking?) and about getting sent to solitary confinement. It would be a welcome retreat for me. I’d be safe and contained and have ample time to explore creative flights of fancy. I’m now sure that’s quite wrongheaded. John Bowlby, the originator of attachment theory, thought so as well. He believed isolation was inherently traumatizing in and of itself, often leading to something like “primal panic.” As Buddha probably intuited when he established the sangha (spiritual community) as a central element in his teachings, adults and children need other people to help us regulate our neurophysiology, to help us engage in a kind of emotional homeostasis. This ongoing, interactive, self-other emotional regulation is described by Dan Goleman in his book, Social Intelligence as a “Neural Duet.”
Miraculously neither of us ended up seriously hurt. In the aftermath, we were both able to stand on the street corner and speak semi-coherently to people who came to our aid. Except for one problem – I couldn’t stop shaking. Forty-plus years later, I’ve come to learn I was having a body and brain-stabilizing,
The need for, and the power of physical movement, even “triumphant action” as a potential healing aid in the wake of traumatic experiences, is important to realize for parents and other caregivers in the world, especially those parts of the world where exploding IEDs and other traumatic assaults are a regular, unpredictable way of life. Anything we can do to support the physical and mental health of any one of us is invariably good for all of us.
There’s a wonderful Zen directive that lives in my long-ago memory as something like this: “Do not think bad thoughts. But if you do think bad thoughts, do not speak them. But if you do speak them, do your best to correct any damage they may have done.” We don’t have to be perfect in this practice. We only have to be willing to attend closely to the intent of the words we put out into the world and work on repairing any damage they may have done. With practice (about 10,000 hours worth), the things we do think and the things we do say may more and more begin to take on their own affirmative gravitas.
It’s interesting to explore what goes on internally when I find myself reacting in this way. At the root of much of my reactivity often lies … fear. Fear that politicians are going to make the mess they’ve already made, worse. Fear that Wall Street – and specifically the big banks – are going to ruin any possible chance that I might have for a happy financial retirement. Fear that what lies ahead for me is mostly greater and greater pain, anxiety and suffering until I finally give up and die. The irony is not lost on me: while I’m so busy being driven by all of this Future-fear, I’m not very present to the glorious life around me in the moment. I blame it on my brain’s inability to easily manage anxiety, which of course, is simply more finger-pointing.
In my mind, kvetching is a conditioned response left over from childhood. I whined as a kid because whining preceded words. Kvetching also seems closely related to the
Two things have stayed with me from that internship at The Country Place: first, there was very little difference that I could discern between the patients and the staff. And in fact, as I later learned, when patients got better, many elected to become staff. The second thing that has stayed with me: The beauty of the place itself seemed to work an active, healing magic. In less than a year, my brain became completely reorganized and my soul fully restored such that I could resume pursuing the graduate degree I had unexpectedly interrupted by taking my own psychiatric time out.