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Short term Psychodynamic Therapy with Children in
Crisis 1st Edition Elisabeth Cleve Digital Instant
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Author(s): Elisabeth Cleve
ISBN(s): 9781138951419, 1138951412
Edition: 1
File Details: PDF, 2.32 MB
Year: 2016
Language: english
Short-Term Psychodynamic
Therapy with Children in Crisis
Elisabeth Cleve
First published in English 2016
by Routledge
2 Park Square, Milton Park, Abingdon, Oxon OX14 4RN
and by Routledge
711 Third Avenue, New York, NY 10017
Routledge is an imprint of the Taylor & Francis Group, an informa
business
© 2016 Elisabeth Cleve
The right of Elisabeth Cleve to be identified as author of this work
has been asserted by her in accordance with sections 77 and 78 of the
Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reprinted or reproduced or
utilised in any form or by any electronic, mechanical, or other means, now
known or hereafter invented, including photocopying and recording, or in
any information storage or retrieval system, without permission in writing
from the publishers.
Trademark notice: Product or corporate names may be trademarks or
registered trademarks, and are used only for identification and explanation
without intent to infringe.
British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data
A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Names: Cleve, Elisabeth, 1946– author.
Title: Short-term psychodynamic therapy with children in crisis /
Elisabeth Cleve.
Other titles: Hur lèange ska hon vara dèod? English
Description: Milton Park, Abingdon, Oxon ; New York, NY : Routledge,
2016.
Identifiers: LCCN 2015037532 | ISBN 9781138951402 (hbk) |
ISBN 9781138951419 (pbk) | ISBN 9781315651743 (ebk)
Subjects: LCSH: Psychodynamic psychotherapy for children. | Brief
psychotherapy.
Classification: LCC RJ505.P92 C5413 2015 | DDC 618.92/8914—dc23
LC record available at http://lccn.loc.gov/2015037532
ISBN: 978-1-138-95140-2 (hbk)
ISBN: 978-1-138-95141-9 (pbk)
ISBN: 978-1-315-65174-3 (ebk)
Typeset in Times
by Apex CoVantage, LLC
To Alma, Alfred and Harry and the fourth little one
This page intentionally left blank
Contents
3 Children who feel second-rate make others feel the same way 99
A psychologist receives supervision for her therapy with
ten-year-old Olga 99
Adopted girl with heavy baggage 99
The psychologist loses her footing 103
Focus in supervision 104
Focus in therapy 105
Projective identification: how does it feel? 108
Easy to show what she cannot do – hard to show what she
can do 111
Nettle whip 112
Aptitude test 114
Russia: object of fantasies 115
Auf Wiedersehen, arrivederci, see you later 117
Six months later 119
Supervision: why? 119
When we work with children in crisis, we are given entrance into a world that
exists right here in our midst and yet is unknown to many. In my own work as a
paediatrician, I sometimes come to think about the duty or the obligation to bear
witness, as it is usually referred to in psychological contexts. We tend to associate
the act of witnessing with World War II survivors but the context is much wider.
Taking all my experiences with me to the grave without sharing them with others
can be perceived as little short of a crime against humanity. If humanity is to make
changes for the better, more people must get a chance to know reality as it really
is. We need to face the destructive forces both within us and around us. We also
need to know more about the life force for survival that pulsates within most of
us, not least in children.
My reflections are subjective. However, there are also several objective reasons
for telling about the world that is revealed to us. In an open society such as ours,
transparency is essential. As soon as we create rooms that are hidden from out-
side view, myths are created about what is going on in there. Rumours are easily
spread and can adversely affect everyone involved, in this case both clients and
therapists. Rumours are quick to nourish prejudices.
Transparency is important from a scientific point of view as well. Today there is
a great demand to have evidence cited, evidence that backs up different treatment
methods. If a treatment is to be recommended and subsidized with taxpayers’
money, there must be scientific documentation showing that the treatment works.
The side effects must be confirmed as not too severe. It is equally important that
the treatment does not contain ethically questionable elements. It therefore does
not suffice to report the results of the treatment. The steps toward obtaining the
results, the treatment process itself, must be open and accessible to oversight
as well.
In addition, those who end up in difficulty and seek different sorts of treatment
have the right to know in advance what the treatment entails and how it will be
conducted. More and more emphasis is being placed on the right of the person
seeking help to choose the form of treatment. For such a choice to be meaningful
and possible, detailed information must be available concerning what the different
alternatives entail.
Foreword by Lars H. Gustafsson xi
The information that comes to the fore in the treatment room has a political
dimension as well. People who seek our help for their own or for their children’s
difficulties are individuals. At the same time, these individuals are part of a sys-
tem, a social context that can be supportive but that can also contribute substan-
tially to unhappiness and impaired health. There are numerous convincing studies
showing that children’s health, both mental and physical, is highly dependent on
the nature of their life conditions. Poverty, loneliness and refugee status as well
as the work situation and the health and substance abuse status of the parents
are only a few examples of factors that play a role. All of us who meet troubled
children inevitably learn a great deal about how society functions for the most
vulnerable of these, our fellow human beings. We are thus obliged to let others
know what we know. Otherwise, how can our knowledge lead to the necessary
changes in society?
However, when we decide to share our experiences, we immediately come up
against a number of ethical dilemmas. Circumstances that are revealed in the ther-
apy room are seldom spoken about otherwise. Needless to say, this is precisely
the point. By shining a light on the darkest corners of the soul, and on what is
hidden there, it is possible to disarm destructive forces and to liberate healing
processes. The high wall of confidentiality that surrounds therapy is a prerequisite
if this sequence of events is going to function. Few children, and likewise few
adults, would dare to open themselves to their therapists if they could not trust
them beyond any doubt. A patient must be able to trust the therapist to let things
presented in the therapy room stay within its confines. Thus we have legislation in
support of confidentiality. This is as it should be.
If confidentiality is to be broken, the first and foremost requirement is the
patient’s informed consent. This means that he or she agrees to let what has been
said in therapy be made known to others. However, the patient in such cases must
have had a chance to think carefully through the consequences of such a release,
both in the short and in the longer term. The therapist has a great responsibility
here. It can be difficult for a client to make a correct assessment of the conse-
quences of a release. The client, owing to a sense of loyalty, might not want or
dare to say no to the therapist when asked for a release from confidentiality.
When the patient is a child, this matter comes to even more of a head. How can
children assess the consequences of having the content of their therapy sessions
spread to a wider audience? Can parents be considered to represent children in
such tough situations?
These questions have been discussed intensively in recent years in connection
with certain TV shows, where children have been interviewed. They have been
exposed, fully recognizable, to TV audiences, in vulnerable situations, where
therapists have also been involved. I belong to those who feel a profound unease
about letting children be exposed in this way.
Elisabeth Cleve had cause to think long and hard about these ethical dilemmas,
both on her own, and together with her colleagues, while she worked on the book
that you now hold in your hands. She approached these questions with insight
xii Foreword by Lars H. Gustafsson
and humility. The viewpoints she put forth are important not only for this book’s
readers but also for anyone who might want to publish descriptions of troubled
children and their reality in the future. Cleve was meticulous about giving an
objective and accurate narrative of what happened in the therapy room while at
the same time being careful to mask the child’s identity. Only those closest to the
children are meant to recognize who the children are. In addition, these adults, just
as the children themselves, have received detailed information, including a chance
to read and suggest changes in the manuscript, after which they have been positive
toward the publication of the narratives.
The most important reason that people have been positive toward publication,
I believe, is that Elisabeth Cleve describes her young patients in such a loving
manner. She consistently underscores the positive aspects of the processes she
depicts. The reader is both happy to meet these children and awed by them. What
a strong spirit they show! And what imaginative survival strategies they come up
with!
I wonder how the children will react when they read this book in fifteen or thirty
years. My guess is that they are going to feel both restored and proud. Granted, the
description of what has happened to them may not be something to include in their
official curriculum vitae. But there is an inner CV that concerns how they became
who they are. And in that CV, I believe these narratives will take a place of honour.
Lars H. Gustafsson
Paediatrician, Associate Professor of Social Medicine
Sweden
Foreword by Björn Salomonsson
Anyone who makes a discovery or has an important insight wants to tell the world
about it. The scientist reports findings in a journal, the author writes a novel or
a play, and the artist arranges an exhibition. For the psychotherapist, things are
more complicated. Before reaching out to a larger readership she has to consider
the issue of anonymity. Her patients must be certain that anything said or done in
her office will remain undisclosed. So, how can she write about her work without
transgressing these boundaries? She must also take into account the complexity
of therapeutic work. Every event in a session may be viewed in relation to the
previous session, the relationship with the therapist and the patient’s life history.
Each session is like a short story in a vast collection of such stories. To present
such large and varied material and make good literature of it is a formidable task.
For the child therapist, two more problems emerge. One has to do with visual-
izing to adult readers the child’s seemingly strange and alien world. Many of us
have rather lopsided memories of our childhood. Some passionate drama, playful
fantasy or ghastly horror may emerge in our memory now and then – but most
childhood recollections lie embedded beneath a blanket of merciful oblivion. This
can make it hard for any reader to understand a presentation of child therapy. The
second problem has to do with yet another anonymity problem. A therapist who
wishes to present adult therapy material asks the patient for permission. If the
patient is a child this is not possible – at least not in the case of small children. The
therapist must turn to the parents for permission, which poses an ethical challenge
to both parties. What are we therapists to do if we wish to disseminate our experi-
ences, insights and ideas about child psychotherapy? One solution is to publish
case material in scientific journals, where only a limited number of profession-
als – whom we assume are aware of the ethical problems involved – will read it.
But if we seek a larger audience, this solution will not work. Furthermore, such
an audience will demand something more than a scientific presentation; they want
good literature. For this audience the therapist must write in a fluent, respectful,
empathic yet humorous style, touching both the reader’s heart and intellect.
Few psychotherapists possess this gift. Elisabeth Cleve was one of these few.
After taking her M.Sc. in psychology, she trained in the mid-1970s to become a
child psychotherapist. This training took place at the Erica Foundation, an insti-
tution comparable to the Anna Freud Centre in London, with which it has long
xiv Foreword by Björn Salomonsson
been engaged in a clinical and scientific exchange. She remained faithful to this
institution until a malignant disease forced her to step back a few years before her
retirement was due. She passed away in 2013.
Besides being an intuitive and sensitive psychotherapist, Elisabeth was a con-
crete and practical person with a firm footing in external reality. Early on, she
realized the need for child psychotherapy to become more generally known. She
therefore started to write books targeting a wider audience. In 2000, she published
a lengthy account of a therapy with a boy diagnosed with a neuropsychiatric dis-
order. It was published by Karnac Books, London, in 2004 under the title From
Chaos to Coherence – Psychotherapy with a Little Boy with ADHD. In 2002, she
published her work with a two-and-a-half-year-old boy who had lost his mother
and younger brother. It was also published by Karnac Books in 2008 under the
title A Big and a Little One Is Gone – Crisis Therapy with a Two-Year-Old Boy.
The present book was published in Swedish in 2011. Elisabeth had a gift of
capturing in a brief expression some piece of emotional reality. The original title
testifies to that talent: How Long Will She Be Dead? These few words, seemingly
so simple, bear witness to a child’s despair. Ronia lost her mother at two years of
age. Now she is seven years old and has many problems, not least with her school-
mates. The title’s question reflects the double logic so common among children.
Seven-year-old Ronia realizes that her mother is gone forever. Yet, “little” Ronia
inside the “big” one maintains a secret bookkeeping in which mother will come
back one day. The question is only “How long will she be dead?”
The stories about Ronia and the other children show not only Elisabeth’s liter-
ary talent but also how she dealt with the issues of anonymity and ethics referred
to earlier. I hope these stories will capture the reader’s imagination and interest.
They are poignant, humorous, moving, bewildering and intellectually stimulating;
in short, they possess all the qualities that make for good reading. The honour of
transferring these qualities from the Swedish original to English goes entirely to
Pamela Boston. She is a translator who also cooperated with Elisabeth in connec-
tion with her two previous books published in English.
Björn Salomonsson
M.D., Ph. D., Child Psychoanalyst (IPA)
Department of Women’s and Children’s Health
Karolinska Institutet
Stockholm, Sweden
Author’s preface
I have had a long career as a psychologist and psychotherapist for children and
adolescents at the Erica Foundation in Stockholm, Sweden. This work has meant
many meetings with children with severe difficulties. Some of them have come for
a psychological assessment in order to shed light on the causes of their suffering,
while others have participated in short-term therapy after a traumatic experience
that has afflicted them and their family. Sometimes I have only needed to carry out
supportive talks with worried parents. I have also been a supervisor for colleagues
both from the Erica Foundation and from other clinics working with children in
crisis and chaos.
In this book I share my experiences and show how children with psychic prob-
lems can get help to go forward with their lives. I describe how Ali comes in for
a psychological assessment even though he does not want to be assessed. It is
only his mother who wants it. Malte goes to crisis therapy after a sexual assault.
Ronia goes through a short-term crisis therapy several years after her mother’s
death. Olga’s psychologist receives supervision from me in order to gain a better
understanding of her patient.
The narratives about these four children rest entirely upon my personal clinical
documentation. The psychological processes are described exactly as they have
taken place. Aside from certain information about the families that would have
made it possible to identify them, nothing has been altered to any essential degree.
The reader gets a chance to follow each child’s pathway toward a better psychic
well-being from three perspectives: mine, the child’s and the parents’. My hope
is that the book will convey knowledge about the life force that children possess
inside, even in times of great distress. I want to show that when they receive help,
there is always hope for the better.
I would like to express my heartfelt gratitude to Malte, Ronia, Olga and Ali.
They have let me witness their unconquerable spirits as they have struggled to
regain their sense of well-being. I also extend my special thanks to their parents,
who so generously have given me their consent to write this book. Thanks go as
well to Olga’s psychologist – whom I will, for reasons of anonymity, merely call
Jenny – for letting me tell about the supervision I gave her.
To write authentic narratives about child patients is a balancing act that calls for
considerable reflection. I therefore gratefully acknowledge the positive support
xvi Author’s preface
and creative encouragement that I have received from all of my present and former
colleagues at the Erica Foundation and from psychotherapists Britta Blomberg,
May Nilsson, Anita Dahlgren, Ewa Heller Ekblad and Willemo Nilsson, for their
constructive review of the manuscript.
I would like to thank Associate Professor Gunnar Carlberg, director of the Erica
Foundation, both for encouraging me to write about my work and for thoroughly
reviewing the manuscript. I also thank him for many years of good collaboration
at the Erica Foundation. Warm thanks go as well to Magnus Kihlbom, the former
chief psychiatrist at the Erica Foundation, for his encouragement and constructive
viewpoints on the content of the book.
Special thanks go to the following people who have reviewed the chapters deal-
ing with themes within their areas of expertise: psychotherapists Miriam Alve-
bäck and Bengt Söderström, who have broad experience of work with sexually
assaulted children, and Associate Professor Marie-Louise Ögren at the University
of Stockholm, who has special expertise on supervision.
I greatly appreciate the care and energy that Pamela Boston has put into the
translation of this book.
I thank the Vårstavi Foundation and the Erica Foundation for their grants,
making it possible for me to reduce my working hours and compile material for
my book.
I would also like to thank my family: my daughters, Susanna and Catharina, for
their unflagging interest in my work, and my husband, Egon, for his patience and
helpfulness with practical tasks connected to the book.
Finally, I would like to extend especially heartfelt words of thanks to Anna and
Coco Belfrage, Arild, Sweden, and their family. Their commitment and generous
economic support have made it possible for me to write this book. Their contribu-
tion has come from donations to the foundation that the family set up to honour
the memory of their daughter Tove Belfrage, who died in a traffic accident in the
summer of 2008. She left behind a husband and a one-year-old daughter, as well
as other dearly beloved family members.
The family’s wish has been that donations to their foundation should be used to
spread knowledge about how we can help children who have experienced a severe
trauma to go forward and have a good life. I hope that this book, which I have
been entrusted to write, will come to serve such a purpose.
Stockholm, spring 2012
Elisabeth Cleve
Introduction
The child psychologist meets
the children
In this book readers are given a chance to follow my work with four of my young
patients – Malte, Ronia, Olga and Ali. All of them have experienced severe trau-
mas, which have left them with deep psychic wounds. Their suffering manifests
itself through various psychic symptoms. Regardless of the different nature of
their traumas and of their reactions, they have one thing in common. All of them
have an inner life force that makes it possible for them to go forward with their
lives. When I work with these children, my aim is to help them to discover their
life force for themselves. After the conclusion of therapy they can continue to rely
on their newly found strength and thus feel more at peace with themselves and
with life.
The target groups for my books are child care professionals and anyone else
who works with children, as well as parents and the general public. Both those
who already have a great deal of knowledge and those who have a general inter-
est will find much food for thought in my narratives. Children are different and
the psychological help needed by each individual one of them has been adapted
thereafter. Three of the children are advised to go to crisis therapy, which is a type
of time-limited short-term therapy. In the text I use the two concepts interchange-
ably. In one of the cases I also describe the supervision received at the same time
by the psychologist who is conducting therapy with the child. The fourth and last
presentation concerns a boy who undergoes psychological assessment in order to
shed light on the causes of his symptoms.
In the first chapter “Grown-Ups Mustn’t Do Stuff like That to Little Kids, . . .
Right?” I describe how the mother of a boy named Malte, five years old, calls and
asks for help for her son, who has “gone through something horrible”. He has
been sexually assaulted. The family is in shock and the parents are unable to cope
with the situation. The boy is silent, the mum is devastated and cries, while the dad
is angry and threatens to go after the perpetrator.
Malte begins a crisis therapy that consists of twelve sessions, while the parents
are offered support discussions. The work is described session for session for both
Malte and his parents. A special aspect of Malte’s therapy is that he gets a chance
to make and illustrate a little book about what happened to him. His advanced
computer skills serve him well in the production of the book. This is his way of
using therapy to work through a horrible experience.
2 Introduction
In Chapter 2, “How Long Will She Be Dead?”, we meet a father who has an
urgent need to get help for his daughter. In the chapter I tell about Ronia, who is
seven years old. Her mother died when she was two years old. Difficulties have
existed the entire time but everything seemed to be going in the right direction
until recently. Ronia is showing anxiety symptoms as never before. Over a short
period of time she has been faced with many changes in her life. She, her sister
and her dad have moved into a new flat with dad’s new partner and her three sons.
Added to that, she has to cope with a new school start. Ronia feels alone and
different. “Everyone else has a mother,” she laments, and the people around her
cannot stop feeling sorry for her.
Ronia starts a crisis therapy of ten sessions on the condition that she will not
have to listen to “busybody talk”. She stages her sense of loss toward her mother
through the things she eagerly builds in the sand tray and her games with the dolls
that live in the dollhouse. Toward the end of therapy Ronia dares to ask, “How
long will she be dead?” She receives a heavy-hearted but honest answer from me.
Now she can finally stop waiting for her mother to come back and instead look
forward. After therapy she presents herself to others as a schoolgirl and not as a
poor, pitiful little motherless thing.
Chapter 3 tells of two loving adoptive parents who are extremely worried about
their daughter Olga, ten years old. She is in low spirits, has serious concentration
problems and cannot keep up with her schoolwork. She becomes terror-stricken
when faced with leave-taking, short as well as long. She also thinks that every-
thing about her is wrong. She sees herself as a second-rate girl surrounded by
people who are equally second-rate. In her time-limited short-term therapy with
her psychologist, Jenny, Olga is helped to understand her own part in making her
schoolmates not want to play with her. She also ceases seeing people, including
herself, as defective and second-rate.
The chapter about Olga is called “Children Who Feel Second-Rate Make Oth-
ers Feel the Same Way”. It is written from my perspective as supervisor for Olga’s
psychologist Jenny. The narrative is based on sequences from Olga’s therapy that
Jenny describes for me. These descriptions are often tied to questions that Jenny
initiates during our four supervision meetings. Jenny’s need to understand Olga
gives rise to many stimulating exchanges between us. Olga makes her psycholo-
gist feel second-rate in the same way as she herself feels. It is painful for Jenny to
be unable to help the child who needs her help so badly. The reader gets a chance
to follow how the psychologist avails herself of supervision in order to work
through the feelings that are evoked in therapy with this unhappy child. Jenny
finds her way out of the strong psychological force field in which Olga has uncon-
sciously trapped her. As a result, Olga becomes able to accept help from Jenny.
In Chapter 4 we meet Ali. Like Ronia he is seven years old and is in his first
year of school. His teacher urges his mother to contact a child psychologist to
get help for her son. Ali is violent in school and it is hard to communicate with
him. He attacks other children, says that he is going to kill himself, gives people
the finger and hisses “fuck you” to the teachers. Ali was born in Sweden but
his single mother has fled here from traumatic experiences in war-torn Iraq. The
Introduction 3
chapter “A Mother’s Trauma Becomes Her Son’s Trauma” gives an account of the
psychological assessment that Ali undergoes with me. He makes four visits but
refuses to carry out the test tasks that children usually enjoy. My sessions with Ali
are both sweaty and loud. He screams at the top of his lungs, “Help, help! She’s
hitting me!” But when he understands that such tricks do not work, he starts to
participate in his own way.
A challenging and exciting cooperation develops, which shows how underlying
causes affect his present disturbed and disturbing behaviour. After twelve years
Ali and I happen to meet, to our mutually pleasant surprise. He has turned into a
handsome young man of nineteen years who has just graduated from upper sec-
ondary school. During a long discussion at a café, he tells me about his life.
What he remembers of the psychological assessment is that it “opened mum’s
eyes” and that she in her turn was able to open his eyes so that he understood
which paths he should choose.
In the penultimate chapter, “Sharing Narratives about Child Patients –: Is That
Acceptable?”, I bring up ethical considerations and also give practical advice on
what to remember when preparing for the publication of confidentiality-classified
patient material. I also describe how formerly confidentiality-classified material
should be handled, meaning after the families have given their written permis-
sion that the material may be published. The parents of Malte, Ronia, Olga and
Ali have all signed release contracts. Jenny and I, on the other hand, have simply
made a spoken agreement.
1 Grown-ups mustn’t do stuff
like that to little kids, . . .
right?
A little kid is apparently chanceless against an adult, against a creep like that! It’s
too bloody awful!
I’m not a policewoman who interviews children when a grown-up has done some-
thing bad to them. I’m someone who helps children and their mums and dads
so that everything will be good again. I usually do that. Children come to see
me every day with their parents.
I ask Annika and Malte to tell me about the interview. Malte indicates that he
does not want to talk. He stares at the toy cupboard, so I say to him:
It’s fine for you to go over there and play. You can still listen to what we are talk-
ing about.
Annika says that the interviewing officer was a policewoman who had neither a
gun nor a uniform. Malte had expected to get to see a police car. When they were
back at home he told his mum that she should have asked if the policewoman had
caught any bad guys. Malte was disappointed that all she had were dolls and “she
asked so much about loads of stuff”. Annika says that the interview was not easy
for Malte. He had done his best to answer the questions while the officer repeated
them over and over again. He thought all this repetition meant that he had given
the wrong answer. Now Malte partakes actively but wordlessly in our discussion
and looks like he approves of the way his mum is recounting what happened.
After hearing about the interview I want to hear how the family is doing now,
and I toss out the question to whoever wants to answer it. Jonathan does not want
to embarrass Malte, so he asks his son to stop him if he says something wrong.
Turned toward Malte, who goes on moving the trains and cars around in the sand
tray, Jonathan begins:
You’re unhappy and you don’t feel like playing. You don’t even want to ride your
bike, something you’re so good at. You don’t want to sleep in your own bed.
As we all know, you’re usually a happy kid who loves preschool.
Malte leans a little farther over the sand tray but does not seem to mind if his
dad continues, and so he does:
When you were a little baby you had eczema, and it’s come back. You often
complain about how it itches so badly and stings when we put ointment
8 Grown-ups mustn’t do stuff like that
on it. So we put it on at night after you’ve gone to sleep because then it
doesn’t hurt.
The atmosphere in the room is calm. Malte does not respond and Annika goes
over and sits down beside him, pats him on the head and fills in:
And you don’t like pasta with ketchup any more. You always used to love it.
Dad and I don’t want you to be unhappy. And you wet the bed at night. That’s
okay, but you stopped doing that a long, long time ago, several years ago.
Children can do that sometimes, even though they don’t want to. That happens to
many children. It can happen even when someone is so big that he stopped
wetting his bed long ago. This is especially true when someone is not feeling
good. It stops when he is feeling better again.
Your parents want everything to be good for you again, yes, for the whole family.
You and your mum and dad may come to see me more times. Children who
come here get to play and build with the things in the sand tray. And we usu-
ally do some other stuff, too, like drawing, colouring and writing. How do you
think that sounds?
Do you want to come here again and see Elisabeth and build in her sand tray?
I can tell you that dad and I really want to come here.
Malte, who wants to stop wetting the bed, gives me a quick glance and answers
almost in a whisper:
Mums and dads get help here, too. They usually want to talk. Children don’t have
to talk if they don’t feel like it. It’s up to them. Your whole family is going to
feel better after you’ve come here a few times – your sisters, too.
Grown-ups mustn’t do stuff like that 9
We have not had time to talk so much about the daughters at this meeting, but
the parents have talked to them and are convinced that Jack did not do anything
inappropriate to them. Nevertheless, I assume that what has happened to Malte
has affected them as well. Perhaps they feel guilty for not having noticed what
was happening to their little brother. Maybe they preferred to be with their friends
and did not want Malte to disturb them when Jack was around. I sense that Malte
is gazing at my back when I turn away from him. He is listening to my words but
saying nothing. He just goes on driving the cars around in the sand tray. He likes
trains, boats and cars, but also shows interest in my soldiers, cowboys and Indians
while at the same time not removing them from the toy cupboard.
His dad, who wants Malte to come out with a more definite answer, asks:
Okay then, it’s decided. I also want to see you, Malte, very much.
Afterwards, Malte is the first to extend his hand to mine when we say good-
bye. I keep his hand in my grip for a moment and give it a little squeeze. Malte
responds with the hint of a smile before he darts away. His parents get the times
and dates for the coming visits.
Sessions 1–3
Malte shows from the beginning that he is worried about being alone in the room
with me. His dad accompanies him to the first session and sits on a chair outside
my room. I do not close the door but Malte closes it himself during the second
session. In the introductory phase I let Malte take in the atmosphere of the room.
How does it feel for him to be alone with me? Despite all efforts to put him at
ease, maybe he thinks our meetings are going to resemble the police interview.
Or maybe he does not expect another such experience but is still wary that we are
going to spend most of the time talking about what happened. Anything connected
to the assault is painful for Malte to think about. At the police station he talked
because he had to. After that he has not mentioned anything about the theme at
home. I hope that he will gradually feel that he can trust me.
I tell him once more that my name is Elisabeth, and his whispered answer is
barely audible:
I know.
That he remembers my name probably means that his parents have prepared
him for the sessions. I have told him earlier but I tell him again what children get
a chance to do when they come to see me.
You’re not going to need to answer loads of questions. You’ve already done that at
the police station. No, here you get to look around and see what you want to do.
Malte stands just inside the door and looks hesitant so I continue:
You can paint, colour, play games, build things in the sand tray, check out the
dollhouse, or do anything else that you feel like doing. Talking about different
things, well, that’s something we can do later if you feel like it.
When Malte is alone with me, he is like most children inasmuch as he picks up
more of what I say than he does when his parents are present. He most likely let his
parents listen on his account when we met the previous time. He looks as though he
is hearing for the first time that he can use the toys in the room, draw, paint, colour
or build in the sand tray. I have laid out crayons, paper, pens and paints, since I have
the work with the book in mind. We will need the material when that time comes. It
instils a sense of security in therapy if the room looks the same every time. The same
material is laid out for every visit, even if Malte does not use it.
I tell him a little about other children who come to see me:
Many children come here who are having a hard time with different things, or who
are unhappy about something that has happened.
Grown-ups mustn’t do stuff like that 13
I mention some reasons for coming that are similar to Malte’s own problems:
Some have stomach aches, others have no friends, some wet their beds even
though they don’t want to. Others have a hard time sleeping in their own
beds, and some are unhappy.
Malte listens while I talk about the other children, and I notice a twitching in the
corner of his mouth when I mention children who wet their beds.
Here in therapy all these children get help so that things get better again. I want
to help you feel good again as well.
In the first session Malte ventures a cautious glance at the paper for painting.
I reach out to him with a piece of paper and say:
If you want to, you can draw your family when all of you are doing something.
Well, okay, Malte says quietly.
With some hesitation he begins to draw. He holds the pencil as a younger child
would and draws a shaky head-foot man, a head with legs and arms attached to it.
After a short while I ask him:
He writes “MALTE” over the entire figure, and with that he considers the task
completed. I ask where the rest of the family is, but he stands firm:
It’s me. There’s no room for the others. I don’t want to draw ’cause it’s no fun.
And besides I never drawed a girl in my whole life.
I see from his picture that he is not used to drawing, but perhaps he also lacks
the psychic energy to think about the rest of his family after all the turbulence that
has arisen.
Malte remains seated, and I tell him to feel free to take a look around the room.
He slides down from the chair and glides around the room, checking out the
games and toys and getting a feel of the sand in the sand tray. He fiddles with a
few cowboys and Indians. He checks out the cars and comments to himself about
their makes. He is eager to see what is behind or under other things in the room.
He opens a closet door and takes a peek into the closet, looks under a radiator and
behind a picture that is hanging on the wall. He looks at me for permission when
he wants to open a desk drawer and I give a yes signal. Perhaps Malte is making
sure that there is nothing dangerous there. He is sombre but still gives an impres-
sion of being curious and eager to learn.
14 Grown-ups mustn’t do stuff like that
He needs the first three sessions to become less anxious and to start liking to
come see me. He plays in the sand tray most of the time. He looks up at me now
and then, while he talks out loud to himself. In that way he lets me go along with
him in his games. What Malte likes best is to set up different teams that fight
against each other. The teams consist of tame and wild animals as well as soldiers,
cowboys and Indians. The team formations vary; sometimes they are equal in
strength, but often a “little and weak and nice” team fights against a “strong and
nasty” one. The figures suddenly change sides and the game becomes agitated. In
the next battle the figures that have previously been nice can become nasty. I see
how he tries to solve situations like this by moving the figures around again. This
makes things even more confusing, with Indians and cowboys who now stand in
disarray and shoot their own team players in the back. Malte cannot figure out
how to put things in order again in these battles so he ends the game abruptly.
Malte does what most children usually do at the beginning of therapy. He stages
in his games what has happened to him. For him, chaos takes over when “weak”
must fight against “strong”. He himself has not been able to cope with such a
situation and neither can his animals or warriors. It does not matter whether the
figures belong to the “nasty” or the “nice” team; the chaos is the same. I see this
as Malte’s way of expressing his own confusion after what has happened to him,
which he must do before we go further. During these first three sessions Malte
does not even look at the crayons, paints, pencils, paintbrushes or paper. He has
now started to show his interest in me by not only taking a peek at me but also by
looking me straight in the eye. He talks less to himself and more to me. I see a hint
of a smile from time to time. Otherwise he is occupied with cowboys, Indians and
warriors who keep shooting indiscriminately.
The most important thing here and now is to instil hope in Malte’s parents.
I therefore refer to my many years of experience of good results from this type of
treatment, and I add that this holds true for both children and their parents.
They smile and look less worried. Before I let them talk I want to clarify:
At this point Malte is still in the beginning of his therapy, and we must allow the
process to take time. Therapy is divided into three different phases, and as
time goes on, changes are going to take place. Your son is not slower than
other children.
Grown-ups mustn’t do stuff like that 15
My words have a calming effect on Jonathan, who is eager for a chance to start
talking. He is still upset and says:
My son’s been violated and I’m suffering with him. He’s changed from a happy
little kid to a silent and tormented soul. I just can’t stand it.
Jonathan drowns out both Annika and me. He gets annoyed at his wife, who
shushes him and does not want him to talk so loudly. I also say that it would be
a good idea for him to speak a little more quietly because then I can understand
what he is saying more easily. At this point he asks me:
How would you react if your own child had been attacked by such a creep and
then was not believed?
I would react exactly as you two are doing, with despair, with frustration at my
powerlessness and anger.
I think this feeling of powerlessness is the worst. I am SO damned mad.
I agree:
I have a warm feeling for Malte’s parents. They are in despair and have a hard
time talking to each other about what has happened, and my suggestion before we
go on is as follows:
I want to divide the time equally between you two today, so that both of you get a
chance to tell me how you’re feeling and thinking.
Jonathan gets to start in order to ease the pressure inside him. In his anxiety-
ridden state he does not have the presence of mind for a dialogue just now.
Then I want to hear how you, Annika, experience the situation, I say.
She answers:
No, both of you must get a chance to express your frustration and listen to the
other’s feelings and reactions. You need help, all three of you.
Everything has turned into chaos in my head, and at home it’s the same thing.
I get angry about everything and lose my temper. I’ve phoned my job and said
16 Grown-ups mustn’t do stuff like that
that I’m ill. I can’t think straight. They asked what my illness was, and I said
I damned well didn’t know what my illness was but I know I’m ill.
It becomes clear that what weighs on Jonathan’s mind most heavily is his not
having been able to protect his family. He loses his temper with his daughters,
too. One time he blamed them for not noticing anything strange about that creep
Jack. He had immediately regretted his words, but it was too late to take them
back. Both daughters had started crying. They slipped into the one girl’s room and
stayed there the entire evening.
They don’t go over to their friends’ houses and they don’t talk on their cell phones
any more. I miss that chitchat that can drive me crazy under normal circum-
stances, says Jonathan and looks devastated.
Can kids get a warped view toward sex when they grow up because of stuff like
this? I mean we see stories about perverts who become perpetrators, about
how they were violated themselves when they were kids.
My answer is this:
Those perpetrators have not had parents who gave them loving care. Malte has
such parents to the greatest degree. Besides, he goes to therapy and that’s
going to help him, both in the short and the long term.
We talk about this issue for a while, until I say that it is Annika’s turn to speak.
Jonathan leans back in the armchair, blows his nose and is obviously in a state
of intense emotion. Annika has her handkerchief ready when she starts to speak:
I feel awful all the time and cry over nothing. Everything’s so hard. We don’t do
anything fun in the family. No one has the energy. A neighbour rang our door-
bell and asked if something had happened to us, and I told her to go home and
mind her own business. I mean, that’s crazy. She just wanted to help and she
had no idea what was going on. I feel so sorry for the kids, too. They don’t
feel like doing anything any more.
When Annika talks about the children she cries for a long while, and Jonathan’s
glasses are misty as he lays his hand on his wife’s shoulder. When she regains her
composure she continues:
It’s so hard when everything falls on my shoulders. And I’m also scared to death
all the time.
When I ask her what she is most scared of, she turns to her husband and says:
Yes, okay, okay, I’ve said I’m going to go after that creep and give him what he
deserves. I was SO damned mad. I don’t know what I’m going to do.
I ask Jonathan:
Have you become afraid of yourself and all the feelings that have been awakened
in you now that someone has violated your child?
Jonathan replies:
I concur:
This is one of the worst things that a parent can experience, that someone hurts his
child. It arouses lots of primitive feelings. But, of course, there’s a difference
between thinking about something and actually doing it.
Do you have thoughts like that now, thoughts that you want to go after Jack? It’s
important for Annika to know.
You needn’t be afraid. I’m not going to do that. I promise. Anyhow I can’t do
anything because all of my energy’s gone. I can’t even do my job, you
know.
The best way you can use any energy you might have left is to make sure you’re
able to come here. You’re going to feel better if you do.
Yes, we’ve put your schedule paper up on our fridge, Annika comments.
When they stand up to go, they seem less burdened. Annika has stopped crying
and runs her hand quickly over the nape of Jonathan’s neck. The most important
task for this meeting has been to help Annika and Jonathan listen to each other and
respect the fact that they express their feelings in different ways.
Session 4
When we have reached this point, Malte is used to coming to see me and he
feels more secure. He runs up to my room on his own every time. His dad or
his maternal grandmother brings him here and waits in the waiting room. Malte
18 Grown-ups mustn’t do stuff like that
has now had his fill of the messy battles in the sand tray and looks around in the
room to see what he wants to do instead. At this point I suggest that the two of
us together can start making a book with drawings and texts, a book about what
happened. I take a pencil and some paper and get ready to start drawing. But
Malte insists:
I try with:
Malte responds by getting keyed up, twisting and turning around on the floor,
scampering randomly about in the room, looking out the window and talking
about something he sees down below on the street. He chuckles in a way to divert
me, to get me to stop talking about “that thing” that he does not want to talk about.
He lets me sit alone at the table with my blank paper. I use a pencil and draw a boy.
He asks me as he chuckles:
I chuckle at his frankness. He also laughs. Like Malte, I do not get a lot of
practice at drawing.
He goes to the shelf where I have the cars and checks out all the car makes.
When he stretches in order to take down some aeroplanes from the top shelf, he
catches sight of a digital camera that I have in my bag. He immediately forgets
the aeroplanes. Well mannered as he is, he looks at me for permission before he
takes out the camera. I suggest that we sit down on the couch so that I can show
it to him. It seems natural to assume that he needs my help, but he opens the case,
attaches the camera to its strap and hangs it around his neck. He knows exactly
how it is done.
We got one almost like this at home. I know how it works. Dad has teached me. He
takes loads of pictures.
Grown-ups mustn’t do stuff like that 19
Malte aims the camera at me and quickly snaps a picture. He shows that he
knows how to take pictures, even though a major part of me is not included.
He is having so much fun that he wants to take one more picture. He moves
farther away since he has concluded that he stood too close before.
This one’s mostly your tummy, too, but it’s smaller now.
I smile and am happy that he is showing me the cheerful Malte, the one I have
previously only heard about. He laughs when I say:
During our first three sessions, Malte expressed his traumatic experiences
through different battles in the sand tray. But now I want us to begin to work on
the book, so I suggest again:
Let’s make a book about what happened. We don’t need to draw. We can take
photos of different dolls and things that we set up on the floor or in the sand.
You can be the photographer so that we get pictures for the book. I’m going to
write the words that should go on every page.
I want to show him that I am going to help him, and consequently I am more
active than I have been at the previous sessions.
Malte gives me an affirmative nod but mumbles that he really does not feel like
doing this. He shows at the same time that he both wants and does not want to get
on board. He is unsure about how he can approach what happened in another way
than talking or drawing, and he does not want to do either of those two. I assure
him that we will help each other, he and I. My intention is to follow the manual
for making a Book about What Happened when it comes to purpose and content,
but the pictures will have to be photos instead of drawings. The manual suggests
simple pencil drawings but Malte prefers more advanced techniques, so we will
try using a digital camera and downloading the pictures on the computer. Granted
I have never used this procedure in any therapy previously but why not, if it can
awaken Malte’s interest?
We use the major part of the session for Malte to think about how to take the
pictures. We chitchat back and forth, and he gets a chance to snap a few pictures of
toys and to look at them in the camera. He needs time to think things over before
he feels ready to take on the work for his Book about What Happened. He creates
20 Grown-ups mustn’t do stuff like that
that time by concentrating on the technical aspects of the project. He reverses our
roles and now he is the one who tells me what I should do:
You can put the pictures into the computer later, ’cause then they’ll get big-
ger. I know how to do that on our computer at home. I help my dad do
stuff like that. You can do it on a computer like yours too, even though it’s
pretty old.
He points at my laptop, which is on the desk. He is quick to note its make and
that it is old, which is more than I keep track of myself. When it is time to start
working on the book I say:
This book is going to be called Book about What Happened, and it’s about Malte
and what he’s gone through.
He wants to take pictures already, before we have even started, so I put the
camera down beside us and tell him first that he may take a picture of each scene
after it is built up.
I need to give him some straight talk:
I’ll take out the camera when it’s time to let you take the picture. There’s to be a
picture on every page of the book.
He goes along with everything that I say but he still looks doubtful and unsure
about what is going on. I am painstakingly precise at this point because I want to
help him dare to take on the work with the book. The book is a good method of
daring to approach what Malte has experienced.
In the series of pictures, we will go through the entire course of events. I will
only include those things that Malte’s parents have told me he has said, and noth-
ing that is only my or the parents’ speculations. I will write the picture texts in
capital letters. Every picture text will indicate that the continuation follows on the
next page. When we get to the final step, the book will reflect the entire course of
events. The aim is not to get Malte to remember more details, something I have
explained carefully to both him and his parents.
Malte sits on the floor watching me and I try to interest him in what we can
put together to illustrate this text. He does not do anything, so I fetch the boy doll
that he has held in his hands earlier. We chat about whether this doll can represent
Malte. He comments:
Malte does not look uninterested, so I propose an opening scene for the story
by placing the boy doll on a tricycle beside a little doll sandbox that Malte fills
with a handful of sand.
Grown-ups mustn’t do stuff like that 21
Figure 1.1 I read the following text aloud while I write it on a piece of paper: Last summer
when Malte was only four and a half years old.
In the first picture I want to underscore that we are going to make a book
about something that happened a long time ago but is no longer happening now.
To emphasize that the assault took place in the past, I choose things that can
be associated with a toddler: a tricycle and a tiny sandbox. This is a concrete
attempt to help Malte get a grip on the distance in time between the assault and
the present. I direct the conversation to how things were for Malte when he was
only four and a half years old. That was half a year ago, a long time when you
are little. I let him tell me about whatever he wants. He shows me immediately
that he would rather talk about his family than about what happened. It is impor-
tant for me to listen without interruption at this point so that he will not feel that
I am judging things he says as right or wrong. Malte says:
I don’t know ’cause I had an ear ache. We’ve got a cat. Her name’s Darling and
she’s got different colours on her. I know a stupid person who says she’s ugly
in a pretty way. Weird. I don’t know what he’s talking about.
What do you think of your cat?
She’s nice. We’ve got six in our family – mum, dad, Johanna, Linda and
Darling.
He shows me five fingers and after counting them with the index finger of his
other hand, he notices that something is not right and he adds with a laugh:
No, we can’t ’cause Darling moved in with us after the summer. When it was
autumn I was five and not four and a half.
Malte talks about his family and this talk makes him calmer. The thought of
the book’s content makes him anxious. We chat some more about his family, and
he tells me that his sister Linda is ten years old and Johanna twelve and he adds:
I’m five now, not four and a half any more. That was a long time ago ’cause
then I was in the Bluebell group at preschool and now I’m in the Cowslip
group. You see what I mean? Next I’ll be five and a half. Are you twenty
years old?
No, pretty much more than that.
Oh really? What then? About eighty?
Session 5
Malte squirms around a little. I write in the past tense here as well to show even
more that what we are talking about concerns time that is no longer with us. Malte
sits on the floor by the sand tray and looks at me. I go to the dollhouse and fiddle
with the dolls. I take out some male dolls with different facial expressions, dolls
that could represent Jack. I want to understand whether Malte harbours contradic-
tory feelings toward Jack. Perhaps his choice of doll can tell me something about
Grown-ups mustn’t do stuff like that 23
Figure 1.2 I take out the camera and a piece of paper where I write at the same time as I
read the text: A young man babysat for Malte and his sisters. His name was Jack.
that. I try to interest him in making a choice, but in the end the process of elimina-
tion rules. He rejects the one doll after the other until there is only one left. It is
tall, wears jeans and has scruffy hair. I ask:
Malte follows me with his glance but seems otherwise glued to the floor. Then
I stand up straight and ask:
I walk around the room with the doll that represents Jack, and I talk about dif-
ferent places:
Maybe in the dollhouse? Or on the shelf with the Indians and cowboys? Or here in
front of the dollhouse? Or behind the cupboard, what do you say about that?
I want to be careful about bringing the Jack doll into the narrative. It therefore
takes time before we decide together about what place he is going to get in the
room and, consequently, later in the narrative. We come to an agreement that the
Jack doll will stand in an out-of-the-way corner under the stairs leading up to
24 Grown-ups mustn’t do stuff like that
the dollhouse. I associate this directly with the shame of standing in the corner.
Malte cannot see the doll from the part of the room where he is sitting nor can
the Jack doll see him. This is Malte’s way of starting to build up a psychological
distance to Jack and thus becoming able to approach the assault in his mind. I am
struck by his inventiveness and am reminded of how the preschool teachers noted
the same quality. I want to encourage him to take part on his own terms and agree:
Malte does not want to take the picture. Approaching Jack through the lens of
the camera means getting too close.
I do as he wishes and note to myself that I will load it into the computer after
the session. I refer to Jack by name, and Malte says instantaneously:
He’s nasty.
Yes, what he did to you was terribly wrong and terribly nasty.
This is getting to be a little too much for Malte just now. He is agitated and
scratches the eczema on his neck. I ask him if he wants to do something else and
he does. He plays in the sand tray, but he cannot get any dynamic going and repeat-
edly interrupts himself. He starts over from new angles but nothing gets better. He
tries to start battles where Indians fight against cowboys. Then he abandons them
and goes on to make an explosion that represents a huge fire. A fire engine comes
screeching in, but it cannot find the fire. Chaos rules. It is obvious that the mere
thought of Jack distresses Malte. He gives up the game and complains:
I suggest that he can come and sit down on a chair beside me, and I say:
Yes, things do turn into a “mess” sometimes when something bad has happened
to you and you don’t know how you should think about it.
When he has had a little rest I suggest that we can do another page in the book
even though he might not really feel up to it.
Malte says that I should take a picture. I take a picture of the “mess”, which
consists of an Indian who has fallen over, an explosion, an overturned fire engine
and a little telephone. Since I am used to far greater “messes” in the sand tray,
this one looks really minor. However, it shows that Malte is not used to dealing
with chaotic and disorganized thoughts. The little telephone pleases me since it
is a good sign of an expected continued dialogue between us. In the text for this
picture of a mess I want to write something wrong that Jack has done. I will wait
with what he has done to Malte in order not to rush things.
Figure 1.3 I read aloud while I write: Jack fooled around with his own weenie.
I am careful to use the same words and expressions that Malte used when he
told his mum about what happened. I ask:
I see that Malte knows he has his parents’ wholehearted support and that
you believe in him. He knows these things because whenever he gets
distressed he regains his comfort and security by talking about his mum
and dad.
The parents are moved when they hear this, and I am moved by seeing them so
moved over what I am telling them. We talk about Malte’s feeling of insecurity,
the way he no longer wants to visit the homes of children in his neighbourhood.
He is listless, even though somewhat less than before. We talk about how it is nec-
essary for them to be on the alert for when Malte wants to try going to his friends’
homes again. They must help him to want to dare. I say so since his parents have
become afraid to let him out of their sight.
Another theme is that Malte refuses to eat certain foods. On one occasion they
got annoyed at him and insisted that he should eat all of his pasta, a dish that he
has always liked. He had eaten it but said it was yucky, and after dinner he vom-
ited. His parents felt guilty when they later understood that maybe Malte associ-
ated pasta with Jack since Jack’s cooking skills were more or less limited to pasta.
When Malte’s parents speak at home now about what happened, they are careful
to keep their voices down. The children stay calmer that way.
Both Annika and Jonathan describe how they bear a vague feeling of going
around waiting for something. They do not know what it is, but the feeling is
unpleasant. Earlier they waited for the police interview, which they thought would
lead to the next step, a preliminary investigation, but then the whole thing was
Grown-ups mustn’t do stuff like that 27
dismissed. They sound as though they are waiting to start to feel all right again.
I want to give them hope until their own hope returns, and I therefore say with
strong conviction:
The parents are more composed today and less anxiety-ridden than the last time
we met. Everyday routines have been partly reinstated now when Jonathan is back
at work. They also see that things are going in the right direction for Malte. He has
slept in his own bed three nights in a row, and during this last night, before the day
of our meeting, he did not wet his bed.
Session 6
When Malte comes to his sixth session he looks over at the computer. I put up the
screen and show him the three pages of the book that are ready. After looking at
the first picture he clicks quickly past the second one with Jack in it and looks at
the third one with the “mess”. He thinks it is strange to include a picture like this
one. We then get started working on page 4. Here I want to put in something about
what Jack did to Malte. I chat with him about the text that I intend to write. Malte
is not capable of talking about this. He locks his lips. As I write the text I look at
him questioningly to see if he has any objections.
NO! Nothing.
It’s really good that you can say NO. I’m writing that you don’t want to talk about
it. You’re the one who decides. Great job!
The sand tray remains empty of toys today. This emptiness can symbolize
“NO” and “nothing”.
28 Grown-ups mustn’t do stuff like that
Figure 1.4 He does not protest when I read the text for him: Jack pulled hard on Malte’s
weenie. He jerked it around. Malte does not want to talk about it.
After this we sit at the table and chat about everyday things, depending on
where Malte leads the conversation. At the same time, we sort out the pieces that
belong to a simple game. Malte is not especially interested in the game, but it is
easier to talk if you have something to do with your hands. Suddenly Malte says:
Iris was the one who knowed him. He babysitted for her kids. She has two kids but
only girls and they’re too little. They’s dad was ill and Iris had to go to work.
My mum and dad also go to work. We were really s’posed to go to my other
grandma, my dad’s mum, but she was sick in her leg. That was stupid of her,
too, you know.
Yes, you wanted to go to her house, I state and continue to listen to his narrative.
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upon creatures of a still more diminutive size, until finally the chain
23
of created beings terminates in the diatoms, which are found filling
these seas with the minutest forms of organic life.
CHAPTER XXXVIII.
ANTARCTIC VOYAGES OF DISCOVERY.
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