First Warning Signs
Mid-1960s: In a family bound by mutual affection, without serious financial hardship, and united by faith in the Lord, an adolescent son—let's call him Enrico—began to show signs of distress.
The priest leading his scout troop advised us after the first camping trip not to push scouting on him; the boy experienced it as suffering, as an obligation. Another priest, a family friend preparing him and his older sister for their First Communion, told us that Enrico was burdened by excessive scrupulosity and suggested we consult a psychologist. At school, though intelligent, he showed no interest in his studies and needed constant support and encouragement.
First Treatments
In those years, psychoanalysis and psychotherapy were beginning to take hold in Italy—with enthusiasm, but little real understanding. A relative, convinced of the value of these approaches, urged us to have Enrico see one of these specialists.
What followed was a period of anxiety—anxieties he had never known before—that sometimes drove him to destroy objects around him.
His father tried to spend more time with him, to build closeness. I, as his mother, thought it best to step back, to respect his growing independence. That's what we were advised to do.
But we began to notice that Enrico, now schooled in analysis himself, knew our uncertainties and weaknesses well. He manipulated them—not for his own advantage, but perhaps only to pull me into his torment. Yet between sixteen and nineteen, he had a close friendship with his sister and enjoyed traveling with friends and attending small gatherings.
Hoping to escape these painful contradictions, we turned to another therapist of proven reputation. He tried to redirect Enrico's life, to bring him back to reality, to convince him to finish high school. At twenty-one, Enrico completed his studies with top marks.
He enrolled in the Faculty of Letters. That summer, on his own initiative, he attended a conference organized by Communion and Liberation, managing his anxiety about being away from home. In his first year he passed three exams with excellent grades. But at the same time, deep internal conflicts took hold—conflicts that drove him to contradictory behavior. He recognized analysis as the only way out of his neurosis, yet he refused it, fearing great suffering. Only now do I understand how Enrico experienced being given to an analyst as our rejection of him, our inability to accept him or take him into our care. We were told later that analysis in youth can trigger a pathological crisis. Without the analyst's support, he tried to lean on his father, but at the same time he rejected us both—afraid of our strength, of being trapped by it as if in a spider's web.
Our attempts to speak openly with him, to start fresh with new understanding, came to nothing. Even his sister offered him all the help she could give.
One day, alone in the house, he vented his rage by destroying everything he could reach and ran away. He returned after two days but locked himself in his room, refusing to speak or eat.
Hospitalizations
Our family doctor managed to get him to accept admission to a private clinic. It was his first brush with psychiatry. He found a well-trained psychiatrist open to new approaches. Enrico had retreated into a catatonic state, transformed into a pillar of salt. The daily monologues the psychiatrist offered him with steady patience, combined with medications he had never taken before, had the desired effect. After several days, dialogue began. Continuing under this psychiatrist's care, he came home after two months, returned to his studies, and passed more exams.
Then came a year and a half of unexpected calm.
For reasons never made clear, in early summer 1975 Enrico withdrew again into silence, refused his medications, and gradually stopped eating. The psychiatrist caring for him realized he had been rejected and confessed that Enrico was one of the most difficult cases he had encountered—the pathology was neither grave enough to respond solely to medication nor mild enough to be resolved through environmental therapy alone. I think that assessment remains true today.
Four more years passed with various crises, brief hospitalizations, attempts to find solutions outside the family—a residence for students run by religious communities, small work in the offices of a magazine, other things. These efforts at independence always ended, after a short time, with a return home that felt like failure. Perhaps desperate to free himself from his anxiety, Enrico became violent toward the psychiatrist who had been following him and whom he had previously accepted. This led to another psychiatric hospitalization. During his stay, the possibility was raised—for him and for us—of being admitted to an agricultural cooperative founded by volunteers dedicated to the recovery of people with serious problems through work. Following the ideals of 1968, the members were seeking alternatives to structure their lives.
Agricultural Cooperative
After initial difficulties adjusting, it seemed Enrico had found the solution to his problems. He became a member, and working alongside so many motivated young people freed him from his loneliness and eased his anxieties. There was no more talk of illness or medication. The psychiatrists we consulted, seeing how little medication had helped in the past, agreed to stop his drugs.
Then my husband died—the conclusion of a brief illness. Before his death, there were meaningful moments of closeness between Enrico and us.
For the cooperative, Enrico had become their showcase: proof of how acceptance, solidarity, and a new way of life could solve even the hardest problems. But after some years, Enrico began to withdraw into himself and to express psychological distress through physical symptoms. He was accused of ingratitude, of resistance—perhaps even of genuine wickedness toward the other members. A beach holiday was arranged for us together; his sister had married by then, his younger brother was doing military service. Enrico seemed confused, perhaps sensing that his bond with me was strained and his relationship with the cooperative was fracturing. In the past he had always felt terror when facing a decision.
Then, suddenly, he broke through a glass door and swallowed fragments of glass. We had to rush him to the emergency room, and he was admitted to the hospital, still in an agitated state.
Anchor of Salvation
The cooperative refused to take him back. The doctors urged me strongly to keep him at home with me, but with no plan, no direction. I felt utterly alone. I reached out to everyone I knew, searched through telephone directories across Italy to find a place suitable for my desperate son. Someone introduced me to a small community where three elderly priests run an agricultural business with the help of residents dealing with various difficulties. Enrico accepted it as an anchor of salvation—and he truly found genuine welcome there. All the residents were fully recognized in their dignity. The priests, with evangelical wisdom, knew how to value each person according to their abilities and gave those abilities proper recognition. Enrico came to understand that he was not alone in facing serious life difficulties. He learned to give and receive friendship. He began to appreciate small satisfactions and, little by little, rediscovered faith and hope. Through contact with young conscientious objectors collaborating with the priests, his intellectual faculties reawakened. He began reading with interest again and, through my encouragement, discovered the magazine "Ombre e Luci." He sent the editors a few book reviews. The editors themselves had the chance to visit the community and meet Enrico.
A Supportive Family
I came to realize later that the environment, however positive, was a bit confining for Enrico. Someone told me about a family very active in diocesan life and volunteer work. From the first time I approached them, they welcomed me as a sister. They quickly grasped Enrico's situation and soon became his friends. Working with the priests of the community, they included Enrico in various activities in their parish.
At the same time, like other residents, Enrico was seen regularly by a doctor from the psychiatric ward. With this doctor—a man of extraordinary intelligence and human sensitivity—an excellent relationship developed. During the few crises he experienced in that period, he was well supported and received genuine friendship from his companions in the community. Over time, his bond with these friends deepened so much that they still consider Enrico a member of their family. These favorable circumstances made it possible to offer Enrico the chance at an independent life.
Living Independently
The parish priest made a small two-room flat next to the church available to him. His psychiatrist arranged part-time work for him at the public library—his friends' library—and promised availability whenever he might need support. Enrico spent several serene years filled with interests and purpose. Over time, he came to realize he could never reach the futures his peers were building. Hope of completely freeing himself from his anxieties—from what he calls "the voices"—began to fade.
His therapist's skill and the steady strength of friendship have brought him to accept his disorder, to live with it as many others live with their own limits.
A meaningful example came from his psychiatrist himself, who, struck years ago by multiple sclerosis, has always faced his illness with great courage. Enrico knows he will likely soon have to leave his job—a source of great pain and distress. But the well-trained team will surely be able to support him in what comes next.
Between my son and me, we have built a positive relationship. In our willingness to accept the past, we have forgiven each other for the suffering we inflicted on each other—unintentionally, out of ignorance, weakness, and inadequacy.
His Mother, 2008