Please show me these actualized men (or women). It’s a phantom, a mirage, a blind faith in the endless quest for “improvement.” We are all damaged in our own way, only some manage to hide it better than others. This I believe is the great failure of therapy, and when I hear someone using that language I know that they have swallowed the program in order to have an approved life raft to cling to. This is particularly true of children of alcoholics who are compelled to seek explanations for the remainder of their days. The truth is that there are no answers that can be usefully teased out from the great chain of circumstance. My father was emotionally unavailable; his mother was demanding and imperious; her mother was…and I’ve chosen not to have children.