Most Memorable Freudian Slips
In the
first part of this post, I mentioned that most of the amusing verbalizations I've encountered over the years were not, strictly speaking, Freudian slips. That is, they didn't necessarily unveil a client's repressed thoughts or emotion. Rather, they were "bloopers"--unintentionally ludicrous mistakes: such as an obese client's saying, "I don't want to
picnic over this [vs.
nitpick]." Or unusually descriptive coinages, like the client who described a vociferous shouting match with her husband as a "screamathon."
Below, however, are some examples of verbalizations that clearly do deserve the designation of Freudian Slip:
• I once worked with a couple where the extremely aggressive husband harbored enormous anger and resentment toward his emotionally abused wife. In the session, he wanted to appear cooperative, and even eager, to construct a more positive relationship between them. But the attitude he projected hardly seemed conciliatory. At one point, staring (glaring?!) at his wife--and in a tone that might be described as "hostile appeasement"--he raised his voice and demanded: "Tell me what I can do to make things difficult! (he had, of course, meant to say ". . . different").
To me, this is a perfect example of the "shadow side" of one's personality determining on its own--that is, without the ego's permission--to step right into the spotlight and vocalize the antagonism that the conscious mind has assiduously sought to conceal.
• This example--which inspired the X-rated title for this post--represents the only time a client of mine was clearly aware of his slip. He burst into unrestrained laughter as soon as he'd recognized his unintended, indecorous disclosure. (And I gave myself permission to laugh heartily as well--the only time I can remember actually allowing myself in a session to "let go" like that.) Talking about his powerful sex drive and that, unfortunately, his libido was far stronger than his wife's, he wondered aloud whether getting older might be the only solution to his continuing frustrations. Maybe in time, he reflected, he simply wouldn't have the same forever-nagging, carnal appetites, which frequently caused him so much annoyance and irritation with his wife--whom he wished would be much more accommodating of his libidinous needs. Maybe, finally, it would all be resolved by-as he put it-his "biological cock" (vs. "clock"). Violating in the moment his own sense of decorum, he quite explicitly identified the exact source (or organ!) of his discontent.
• Okay, embarrassing as it is, this one I was guilty of. Counseling a woman who came in one hot, summer day wearing an unusually short, flaming red skirt with sandals and no stockings, I found her skimpy attire more than a little provocative. Inasmuch as her issues didn't involve flirtatiousness as such, or beguilingly leading men on--or anything else that might allow me (therapeutically, that is) to comment on her physical presentation--I decided I needed to eliminate from consciousness any and all attention to what I had to conclude was her innocently "seductive" appearance.
At one point (and despite myself--apparently still distracted by how she was adorned), I spoke to her about how she had successfully "sidestepped" an issue. But, alas, I heard myself say "side-skirted" instead! What I'd consciously decided to ignore had "slipped out" all on its own. And I had to marvel at the coincidence that I could have talked about her "skirting" the issue, but somehow managed to stay away from what might in the moment have felt like giving myself away. So I used (or at least meant to use) the word "sidestep" . . . except that's not how it came out. (As a postscript, I might add that the client didn't seem to notice my blunder at all--and fortunately, I don't blush that easily!--so the session proceeded undisturbed.)
• The last example I add as a sort of addendum, since it didn't occur in my therapy office at all. Still, I can hardly imagine a more embarrassing occasion for such a "blooper." And of all the Freudian slips ever shared with me, this undoubtedly was the most remarkable. Here it is:
When I was an English professor, a just-hired junior colleague of mine confided in me this dismayingly comical (or comically dismaying) tale. The situation was this: a senior professor (along with his wife) had established a custom of inviting over for dinner faculty members new to the department. As was probably true in the past for other fresh academic recruits, the evening felt strained and awkward. This much older, tenured professor--even though he undeniably had a good heart--was rather "stiff and starchy," not able to project much in the way of warmth, friendliness, or caring.
At the conclusion of what my colleague experienced as a challenging (and somewhat tedious) evening, he searched upon departure for the most gracious thing he could possibly say to his hosts. And he came up with a perfectly appropriate line: "Thank you for your hospitality." However, presumably in a state of fatigue, something in his brain must have misfired. For, when the moment arrived, he was mortified to hear himself utter the words, "Thank you for your hostility (!)." (Not to worry, though--many years later, despite his king-size gaffe, he was awarded tenure anyway.)
Note 1: The five successive parts to this extended, seven-part post cover "Verbal Screw-Ups" and "Forms of Words Never Heard Before," "Idiomatic Screw-Ups," "Unconscious Hilarity," "Linguistic Creativity," and (my personal favorite) "Unexpected Client Wit."
Note 2: I invite all readers to follow my reflections and musings on Twitter.
