Some researchers, among them psychologist George Bonanno of Columbia University's Teachers College, suspect that post-traumatic growth may be primarily wishful thinking. He argues that resilience—the ability to return to normal after trauma—is commonplace, but suspects that people who say they've surpassed their old selves and changed for the better may be unconsciously trying to make the best of a terrible experience.
Growth through adversity "is a nice idea, but I don't see the data for it," Bonanno says. People may say that they've become better or happier, but "anyone who studies humans finds out that we often don't know how our own minds work. We do a lot of backpedaling."
Tedeschi counters that survivors aren't kidding themselves; on the contrary, they have become more acutely aware of the dangers of everyday life and less deluded about their own immunity to disaster. "These are not naïve people," he says. "They know now, based on what they've been through, how tough things can be."
Thankfully, true crises are rare. Most people go through only one in a lifetime, or maybe none at all. But extreme experiences have analogues in ordinary life. An overpowering but welcome change like a major promotion or religious conversion can provoke a milder version of the transformation that crises often initiate. As with a major ego threat, a positive change can loosen the sense of identity. "Any time a person is in that free-fall situation where the self isn't yet attached to what you're going to do next, there's a really good opportunity for personal growth," says King.
Emory University psychiatrist Gregory Berns contends that the need for experiencing this kind of rapturous limbo may be built into the brain. Berns, who studies the neurobiology of pleasure and motivation, says that because our brains respond to changes in inputs and information, we search for intense challenges; situations where the outcome is not yet known or even clear. He speculates that the feeling of satisfaction, which we all seek, is in part generated by the stress hormone cortisol's effects on the dopamine system. The upshot, he writes in his book Satisfaction: "The road to satisfying experiences must necessarily pass through the terrain of discomfort.
He points to extreme endurance athletes who push themselves to their physical limits for days at a time. They cycle through the same sequence of sensations as do trauma survivors: self-loss, confusion and, finally, a new sense of mastery. For ultramarathoners, who regularly run 100-mile races that last more than 24 hours, vomiting and hallucinating are
normal. After a day and night of running without stopping or sleeping, competitors sometimes forget who they are and what they're doing.
But the feeling of mastering extraordinary difficulty makes up for it, reports Honolulu businessman Randy Havre. Havre, 51, found this feeling near the summit of Mauna Kea nearly 10 years ago. He was nearing the end of a 44-mile race that took him from sea level to the top of the volcano—a vertical ascent of 13,766 feet. He was on his way to setting the unofficial world record for that climb, but the high elevation was starting to get to him.
"When you get to about 10,000 feet, things tend to get a little weird because of the swelling and pressure on your brain," he says. "Above that, it gets exponentially weirder. I remember busting out crying at 12,000 feet. But if you can finish these things, you know: Hey, I can get through this stuff. You were able to hang in there, and you're stronger for that."
For a more common example of growth through adversity, look to one of life's biggest challenges: parenting. Having a baby has been shown to decrease levels of happiness. The sleep deprivation and the necessity of putting aside personal pleasures in order to care for an infant mean that people with newborns are more likely to be depressed and find their marriage on the rocks. Nonetheless, over the long haul, raising a child is one of the most rewarding and meaningful of all human undertakings. The short-term sacrifice of happiness is outweighed by other benefits, like satisfaction, altruism and the chance to leave a meaningful legacy.
Childrearing and family relationships do dual duty: They bring us joy, and they also push us to grow and develop. In psychologist Laura King's terms, they foster both happiness and ego development, which she has identified as the dual components of the good life. In this context, ego development essentially means the ability to think about life with complexity, to be self-reflective and introspective.
Plenty of people are mature, wise, lead meaningful lives—and are also miserable. (Think of Kierkegaard if you have any doubts.) Growth isn't an automatic ticket to the good life. But those who are both mature and happy are the ones who have tapped into the highest kind of human potential. Getting to that point may require coming to terms with some kind of loss. It might be severe, as in the case of a major life trauma, or relatively common—flunking out of school, having a marriage collapse.
In King's studies of parents of children with Down's Syndrome, those who scored highest on scales of both maturity and happiness were willing to admit that they had not been able to lead the life they'd always hoped for, and yet were fully committed to the life they currently led. They tended to have a self-deprecating sense of humor with a forgiving attitude about life. Many evince a bittersweet appreciation for their lost selves—a kind of nostalgia for who they once were and what they once believed life was all about.
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