At one time or another, we've all dreaded going to family gatherings, and most of us probably still do. I vividly remember the repressed feelings bubbling to the surface during what seemed like innocent conversations about politics, sports, and other topics. I recall the personal attacks and labels that were hurled at me, and my uncontrollable urge to defend myself and be heard.
I've said it—and heard it from others—a thousand times: "That's it. I'm not doing this anymore!"
I believe the reason these circumstances torment so many of us is that our hearts desperately long to connect—they yearn to love and be loved. Deep down, I truly believe every family member desires this, despite the constant ad hominem attacks, passive-aggressiveness, and, at times, even open hostility.
If you'll trust me, I’d like to suggest a different approach to navigating the emotionally uncomfortable and sometimes dangerous environment of family gatherings. Let’s think of Jerusalem as a symbol for these gatherings—where conversations unfold, where matters of the heart and past are discussed, where difficult questions arise, and where we have the opportunity to face and ultimately release these old, maladaptive patterns.
Jesus went unto the mount of Olives. And early in the morning he came again into the temple… — John 8:1-2 (KJV)
In the scripture above Jesus looks over Jerusalem from a distance. The Mount of Olives is situated on the eastern side of Jerusalem, directly across from the city. It offers a clear and elevated vantage point, providing a stunning view of the ancient city.
Because of this elevation difference, the Mount of Olives provides a panoramic view of Jerusalem. From its slopes, you can see landmarks like the Temple Mount, the Dome of the Rock, the Western Wall, and the City of David, among others.
I’m asking us to step back from the turmoil of our emotions surrounding family and observe it with some critical distance, to see if we can identify the underlying pain points from a higher vantage point.
The Power of Perspective: How Distance Reveals Hidden Pain Points
When we step back, like Jesus did atop the Mount of Olives, we begin to see things more clearly. The turmoil, the emotional chaos, the repetitive cycles of misunderstandings—it all becomes easier to observe when we create space and distance from the raw intensity of the situation. From this elevated perspective, we can see the pain points that might otherwise be obscured by being too close to the situation.
We start to recognize the patterns, the knee-jerk defenses we’ve built over time to protect ourselves. These defenses, while designed to shield us, only contribute to the ongoing cycle of emotional misunderstanding. We misread each other’s actions and words, often interpreting neutral events as personal attacks. We’re trapped in a loop, unable to let go of past grievances and constantly misjudging the intentions of those around us.
We may see that we’ve been overreacting, that our emotional responses are tied more to past wounds than to present circumstances. And that’s where the shift happens. The more we gain this critical distance, the more we can begin to understand the real source of our pain and confusion. It’s not about what’s happening right now; it’s about what has happened before—the old, unresolved wounds that are still dictating our emotional responses.
This is the challenge. It’s easy to get lost in the emotion of the moment, to feel overwhelmed by the weight of family dynamics. But when we take the time to step back, to look at it from a higher perspective, we can begin to see that these emotional reactions are not just random—they are rooted in deeper, more complex patterns. These patterns often go unnoticed until we stop and take a breath, until we’re able to step out of the cycle long enough to recognize them.
This is an important first step. By understanding where the pain points lie, we can begin to address them. But it requires us to expand our awareness—to take in and truly feel the emotional landscape of our family dynamics. Just as Jesus gazed over Jerusalem from the Mount of Olives, we too must look at our relationships with fresh eyes, recognizing the complexities, contradictions, and ultimately, the opportunity for growth and transformation.
Embracing Vulnerability: Why Embracing Discomfort Leads to Healing
It’s one thing to recognize the truth about our emotional triggers, it’s another to confront the deeper contradictions and discomforts that arise when we fully accept our vulnerabilities.
One way to approach this discomfort is by distinguishing between constructive criticism and what I call *Objective Pretenses—a type of gaslighting defense mechanism that distorts reality to avoid responsibility and maintain control.
To move forward in our emotional growth, it’s essential to recognize the difference between these two approaches and understand how each shapes our relationships with loved ones.
Jesus went unto the mount of Olives. And early in the morning he came again into the temple…And the scribes and Pharisees brought unto him a woman taken in adultery; and when they had set her in the midst, They say unto him, ‘Master, this woman was taken in adultery, in the very act. Now Moses in the law commanded us, that such should be stoned: but what sayest thou?’ — John 8:1-5 (KJV)
In the scripture above, we see a group of people, which I’m likening to family, accusing a woman of adultery. The question is: How do we recognize when loved ones are pointing out our flaws under the guise of “objective pretense”? And how do we know when to stay in the discomfort long enough to confront our own complexities, especially our sorrow, guilt, and shame?
It is the spirit of Christ that stands between malicious arguments and true understanding, helping us navigate these emotional reactions without allowing them to cloud our judgment.
Revealing the Accusers: The Unresolved Pain of Loved Ones and Our Own Inner Critic
The highest and most compassionate vantage point is to recognize the distress in everyone involved—the accusers, the accused, and the negative voices within ourselves. By shedding light on the pain that drives us all, we begin to see that the judgments and criticisms we face, whether from others or from within, are often rooted in unresolved wounds and emotions. Only when we respectfully engage with these deeper sources of suffering can we move toward true healing, both within ourselves and in our relationships.
Now Moses in the law commanded us, that such should be stoned: but what sayest thou?’ This they said, tempting him, that they might have to accuse him. But Jesus stooped down, and with his finger wrote on the ground, as though he heard them not. — John 8:5-6 (KJV)
This scripture is not commonly known. I think it might be because it is hard to understand. Before we get to the magic of Jesus writing on the ground, it is important to notice his reaction, he “stooped down” and acted as he didn’t hear them.
I don’t believe that Jesus "stooping" down was simply an act of humility in the traditional sense. While the etymology of humility does indeed connect to being low to the ground, derived from the Latin word humilitas, which comes from humus meaning "earth" or "ground," there’s something more profound happening here.
In this instance, when he saw the suffering around him, he didn’t respond by confronting the argument head-on. Instead, he acted as if he didn’t hear the accusations, creating space to acknowledge the repressed suffering that needed to be recognized before any healing could begin.
I believe he envisioned a future where our love for others, compassionate courage, and the wisdom to distinguish between a *Malignant Complex and the true goodness in our loved ones would guide us, inspiring us to act in harmony with the highest good.
Nominal Closure: The Power of Naming and Confronting Hidden Wounds
To truly heal from the perpetual reenactments of family dramas that entrap us, we must go beyond merely recognizing the pain and unresolved wounds that fuel these cycles. The next step in our journey is to move toward *Nominal Closure—a process of assigning a definitive name to the psychological complex (the Malignant Complex) that holds us captive. This is not about dismissing or invalidating the pain, but about giving it a final, symbolic end. It’s about differentiating between the patterns of the Malignant Complex we’ve internalized and the real person we are—and can become.
I believe Jesus kneels down in front of each person there, beginning with the oldest, and gently writes the secret pain of the person before him. He does not accuse them. He slowly spells out what was there all along.
So, when they continued asking him, he lifted up himself, and said unto them, He that is without sin among you, let him first cast a stone at her. And again he stooped down, and wrote on the ground. And they which heard it, being convicted by their own conscience, went out one by one, beginning at the eldest, even unto the last. — John 8:7-9 (KJV)
The word epitaph comes to mind here—derived from the Greek epitaphios—which means “upon the tomb.” It combines epi- (meaning “upon” or “over”) and taphos (meaning “tomb” or “grave”). In a symbolic sense, an epitaph marks the end of something, just as a tombstone signifies the closure of life. When we assign an epitaph to a Malignant Complex, we are metaphorically placing a tombstone on the negative patterns and unresolved pain that have governed us for so long.
This act of naming, of Nominal Closure, allows us to move beyond these Malignant Complexes, recognizing them for what they are—limited patterns of pain that no longer have authority over us.
Just as a tombstone signifies the closure of a chapter in life, Nominal Closure represents the end of a cycle. It requires the power of recognition—the ability to compassionately name the structure of our pain and then move on from it. This is not about disregarding the reality of what we’ve experienced, but instead about acknowledging that the pain no longer defines us.
Nominal Closure is a rebuke, a confronting of the Malignant Complex for what it is, much like the Greek term ἐπιτιμάω (epitimáō), meaning “to rebuke” or “to cast out,” which is where the word epitaph comes from. This is a spiritual and psychological process of naming our wounds so that we can ultimately release them.
The Malignant Complex is a composite of negative self-perceptions, repressed emotions, and unresolved trauma. It can manifest as an inner critic that perpetuates cycles of self-blame, or as patterns of judgment and criticism from others.
When we confront and assign a symbolic epitaph to Malignant Complexes, we separate the identity of our real, whole selves from the narrow, limiting forms of pain that have shaped us. This creates a moment of closure, a moment of “conviction,” a moment of “conscience,” where we can step beyond the limiting structures that have held us in in judgement. By naming these complexes, we are asserting control over them. They no longer have the power to govern our emotional responses, because we’ve placed a symbolic end to them.
In this process, we actively engage with our emotional history—not to dwell in the pain, but to acknowledge it as part of the past, so we can have a future of meaningful relationships.
By naming and confronting the Malignant Complex, we embrace the opportunity for healing. We create the space for something new to emerge, something more aligned with our authentic selves. This Nominal Closure allows us to move forward, untethered from the past, and open to growth and transformation. Through this process, we free ourselves from the cycle of unresolved pain, creating the possibility of true emotional liberation.
A Conversation in Danish: Emotional Truths Beyond Words
A few days ago, there was an event in Denmark where family members gathered, and during the evening, a hurtful conversation unfolded among them. At the time, I wasn’t fully aware of what was being said because the conversation was in Danish.
For the sake of anonymity, I can’t go into the details, but this event inspired me to write this article. It highlighted to me how the argument exposed the hidden pain of each person involved and revealed how unflattering Objective Pretenses are to the dignity of everyone at that table.
At the time of the event, I remember feeling a strange sense of relief in not understanding the words being exchanged. I appreciated that my intellect couldn’t form a biased interpretation of the conversation. Instead, I could only experience the raw, unfiltered emotions—the vocal tones, body language, and energy in the room—that spoke volumes, far beyond the words I would eventually come to understand.
It wasn’t until the drive home that I learned about the content of the argument, the hurtful remarks, and the dismissive actions that took place.
I can say with certainty that everyone involved was deeply hurt by the encounter, and, like so many family gatherings we all know too well, there seems to be no resolution in sight. I am writing this article as though kneeling on the ground, acknowledging the pain, and praying that one day the parties involved can see each other for all the goodness and devotion I see in them.
Epitomizing Unspoken Pain from the Oldest to the Youngest
At this point, I can only speculate about what Jesus might have written for each person involved in the argument. However, I believe it’s important to imagine the untold stories of silent struggles that would have been etched into the dirt before each individual.
This imaginative exercise is an act of creation, opening up possibilities for connection where none existed before. It allows us to form authentic, untainted relationships by preventing the projection of Malignant Complexes and the inflation of the ego, which often obstruct true intimacy. By attuning ourselves to our instinctual signals and recognizing the context of each encounter, we make space for deeper understanding, relational clarity, and much-needed connection.
There’s also a counterintuitive aspect to why Jesus approached the oldest first and moved down to the youngest. As a thought experiment, let’s consider that every family member in an argument brings with them the stones of old maladaptive stories made by Malignant Complexes. Each person, in their own way, is also the one being accused, longing to be truly seen for who they are beneath the pain, the emotional blackmail, and accusations.
The oldest maladaptive stories are often the most entrenched, having been reiterated over time, solidifying their hold over everyone. These stories, deeply ingrained through years or even generations of repetition, become a part of the psychological base of the family.
This repetition leads to psychological entrainment, where the thought and emotional patterns sustaining these stories are automatically triggered in future interactions. Over time, these stories distort perceptions, trapping people in cycles of blame and misunderstanding. Addressing the oldest stories first is crucial for breaking these cycles, as they form the foundation upon which the younger stories are built.
That Christ may dwell in your hearts by faith; that ye, being rooted and grounded in love, May be able to comprehend with all saints what is the breadth, and length, and depth, and height; And to know the love of Christ, which passeth knowledge, that ye might be filled with all the fullness of God. —Ephesians 3:17-19
As we reflect on the weight of these deeply ingrained stories and the psychological cycles they create, it becomes clear that healing requires more than acknowledgment—it calls for a transformative shift in how we relate to one another. The foundation of love invites us to make space for the healing power of compassion and the insight that comes from imagining others as separate from ourselves, recognizing their unique experiences and struggles.
Only Love Will Be Left Standing
Jesus was left alone, and the woman standing in the midst. When Jesus had lifted up himself, and saw none but the woman, he said unto her, ‘Woman, where are those thine accusers? hath no man condemned thee?’ She said, ‘No man, Lord.’ And Jesus said unto her, ‘Neither do I condemn thee: go, and sin no more.’ — John 8:9-11 (KJV)
We all long to be freed from the stories that secretly bind us to old patterns, as illustrated by the psychological phenomenon of *Repetition Compulsion. Repetition Compulsion occurs when individuals unconsciously repeat thought patterns, behaviors, and emotional responses, often driven by unresolved trauma or pain. This compulsion arises from the instinct to relive past experiences in an attempt to resolve them, creating a cycle that feels impossible to break.
This process is deeply tied to *State-Dependent Memory, where emotions and physical states from a past event influence how memories are stored and recalled. These emotional states can trigger similar reactions when re-experienced, such as in emotionally charged family dynamics around the dinner table.
This cycle of unresolved emotions continues to perpetuate unhealthy patterns and relational dysfunction, often without the individuals even realizing it. It becomes the silent force that drives behaviors and reactions, embedding itself into the very structure of their interactions. Understanding this cycle is crucial, particularly when it comes to the overwhelming and repressed memories that linger beneath the surface. For those carrying unresolved suffering, these hidden wounds shape their reality, creating a deep need for healing and reconciliation.
Compassion calls us to create space for our loved ones to step back and reflect on their own shame, guilt, and fears, rather than allowing those feelings to be projected onto each other.
I believe that the spirit of Christ can reveal our most important stories, ultimately closing off the false narratives around us, and asking, "Is there any viciousness, loneliness, or vengeance left here to judge us?"
In the end, only love will be left standing.
Reviewing Key Ideas
Malignant Complex
Disruptive emotional and psychological patterns that distort the development of a healthy Dominant Ego Personality, leading to dissociation and dysfunctional perception of self.
Nominal Closure
Nominal Closure is the process of assigning a definitive name to the psychological complex (the Malignant Complex) that holds us captive, symbolically marking the end of destructive patterns and unresolved pain. It involves recognizing and confronting our wounds with compassion, allowing us to release their control over us and move forward into healing and emotional liberation.
Objective Pretense
Objective Pretense refers to a defense mechanism that distorts reality in order to avoid responsibility and maintain control, often disguised as constructive criticism. Unlike good faith feedback, it manipulates situations to deflect accountability, hindering emotional growth and damaging relationships.
State-Dependent Memory
State-Dependent Memory refers to the phenomenon where memories are more easily recalled when an individual is in the same emotional or physical state as when the memory was originally formed. Essentially, a person is more likely to remember certain events or details when they are in the same mood, environment, or state of mind.
Repetition Compulsion
Repetition Compulsion is a psychological phenomenon where individuals unconsciously repeat behaviors, emotions, or patterns from past traumatic experiences in an attempt to resolve them. Despite the discomfort, the person feels compelled to re-enact unresolved issues, often in new relationships or situations, as a way of seeking closure.
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