The Head vs. The Heart

“I don’t trust Dr. Rosen,” Jeff tells us all in a low voice. He knows what he just said carries a bit of danger. Dr. Rosen is the head psychiatrist—when he attends sessions, all our daily psychologists and interns are more alert, more upbeat, and more inquisitive. Jeff is small and round and wears glasses attached to spectacle straps that wrap around his head. He is the kid in the class who will always offer up his opinion, the kid the teachers secretly wish would maybe just sit quietly and listen to other people’s thoughts. If a prompt was the starting point on a map meant to lead us toward sacred treasure, Jeff begins walking backward, jolting to the left or right until he falls off a cliff, taking us all with him.

I could tell Josephine, our psychologist, did not want to ask what she knew she had to ask. Her large blue eyes looked wary. “Jeff, why do you feel that way?”

After spending many months talking about feelings, it makes sense to me why no one outside the walls of a psychologist’s office can ever communicate them effectively. Most of the time, we feel something; it’s revealed in our gut, our nervous system, but within seconds our brain starts to bury it in logic and reason. It’s much too time-consuming, or too uncomfortable, to try to unbury it. Very rarely does anyone ever take a leaf blower to the logic, clearing it all away for the truth to reveal itself.

But in group therapy, we are all the leaf blowers to our counterparts’ thoughts. If you ask enough questions and give enough space for a person to think, that, combined with the safety to reveal the feelings truthfully, always leads you to the correct place—you discover the sacred treasure.

“There was one time,” Jeff began, and everyone shifted in their seats, “he just… kept looking at his watch.”

We were all waiting for Jeff to continue, but that was it.

“Did you think that was rude?” Josephine asked Jeff.

Jeff had his arms crossed against his chest, and he took a moment to contemplate this. After a long silence, he said, “Yeah.”

Unfortunately for Jeff, and luckily for all of us, Dr. Rosen walked in at that moment and took his seat in the circle, which happened to be right next to me.

“What’s the prompt today?” he asked us all cheerfully. We all looked at Jeff.

Dr. Rosen checked his watch.

“We didn’t have a prompt today,” Josephine said regretfully, and I knew that she would never come unprepared and without a prompt again.

“Well, I have one,” Dr. Rosen began. “Which is more important, the head or the heart?”

I always like to stay silent until either someone calls on me or everyone has spoken before me. This has proven to be a winning strategy for me. I digest all the things people say and use them to formulate a solid argument in favor of whatever I think. The smartest people in the room speak last. I think some smart person said that once.

Jeff’s brow furrowed like he was going to use this as a chance to fight Dr. Rosen. “Well, the head is,” Jeff said confidently. “Logic and reason are what keep us alive.”

Dr. Rosen glanced at his watch, and all our heads turned to Jeff to see if he was going to stand up and hurl his orange chair at Dr. Rosen’s head.

“How many of you believe this is true?” Dr. Rosen asked, looking around at all of us. Most everyone was nodding in agreement—my cue to ponder the opposing viewpoint. People began going around the room, sharing examples of logic saving their lives:

“I don’t drink gasoline because of logic.”

“I wear pants in public because of logic.”

“I don’t light myself on fire because of logic.”

“I have never eaten feces because of logic.”

Dr. Rosen then landed in front of me. Because I was next to him, he had to turn his body in his chair. “Jennifer, your thoughts?” he asked.

I was tapping my pen against my notebook, which had a page full of observations I had hastily scribbled, trying to keep up with everyone’s answers. I closed my notebook so Dr. Rosen couldn’t see I was recording everything like a creep who is the subject of multiple restraining orders pending investigation.

“I think the heart is more important,” I told everyone. I paused after my opening statement, hoping the silence would settle the manic energy that logic saving us all from eating our own feces had created in the room.

“I think it’s interesting that we don’t assign emotion to the brain. Things like love, happiness, anger, sadness, determination, hope—everything that makes us feel—we assign to the heart.”

Silence.

“Why do you think that’s significant?” Dr. Rosen asked, and I wanted to kiss him on the cheek for setting it up so easily for me.

“Well, logically, if your heart stops beating, blood stops flowing to your brain and other vital organs, causing them to stop working. You stop breathing. You lose consciousness. It will lead to death.”

Everyone was nodding slowly.

“So it’s actually not your brain that keeps you alive.”

Dr. Rosen smiled, and I finished my thought.

“It’s your heart.”