St. Dymphna and the Family Therapy Miracle: Why We’re All Just a Little Bit Insane

Tuesday, March 4, 2025.

Let’s talk about St. Dymphna—the patron saint of mental illness, nervous breakdowns, and, presumably, anyone who has ever attended Thanksgiving dinner with their extended family.

Dymphna was a 7th-century Irish princess whose life story reads like a Greek tragedy had a baby with a Lifetime movie.

Her father, a pagan king named Damon, was heartbroken when his wife died. And when I say heartbroken, I mean that in the most red-flag, run-for-the-hills way possible.

Because instead of, say, working through his grief in a healthy manner—perhaps by channeling his emotions into a meaningful hobby, such as literacy—he decided that the only woman who could possibly replace his wife was… his daughter.

Yes. His own daughter.

Saint Dymphna, to her eternal credit, took one look at this situation and said, “Screw this” She fled to Belgium with her priest and some loyal companions, presumably after leaving behind a very awkward family dinner.

But, as luck would have it, her father tracked her down and, in a move that would make Freud sit up and take notes, beheaded her.

Now, you might be asking, “Dashnaw, in the name of all that is holy, how is this relevant to family therapy?” Well, aside from the very obvious “sometimes cutting ties with toxic family members is not only advisable but a matter of survival,” St. Dymphna’s story is a case study in intergenerational trauma, dysfunctional attachments, and the kind of unresolved grief that makes people do insane things—like, you know, attempting to marry their daughters.

The Dysfunction That Keeps on Dysfunctioning

Imagine Dymphna’s father in a modern therapy session:

THERAPIST: “So, tell me what brings you in today.”
KING: sobbing “My wife died.”
THERAPIST: “That’s terrible. Loss is difficult.”
KING: “So I’m going to marry my daughter.”
THERAPIST: “Ah. I see. Let’s unpack that.”

This is the kind of family pathology that, if left untreated, festers for generations. Sure, maybe not everyone is out here planning royal incest, but families have ways of repeating destructive patterns.

You’ve seen it. The enmeshed mother who treats her son like an emotional husband. The father who thinks vulnerability is for the weak. The generational cycle of not talking about our problems but instead yelling about the election while passive-aggressively overcooking the holiday roast.

Dymphna’s father was caught in what we in the business call maladaptive grief—that is, grief that turns into something significantly more dangerous than wearing your deceased wife’s bathrobe and crying into her old Tupperware collection.

His response to loss was to try to control what he couldn’t bear to lose again. And when Dymphna resisted? Well, instead of introspection, he reached for the sword.

This is what happens when powerful people don’t get therapy.

St. Dymphna, Patron Saint of Family Therapy

Dymphna was canonized as the patron saint of the mentally ill, but I’d argue she’s also the patron saint of setting boundaries that might cost you your head.

If she were alive today, she’d be leading family therapy sessions with the kind of weary patience that only someone who has seen some sh*t can muster.

She’d be the one handing out laminated worksheets on healthy detachment and how to stop playing emotional tug-of-war with people who will never go to therapy but have a lot of opinions about you going. She’d probably have a coffee mug that says, Not My Circus, Not My Monkeys.

And she’d certainly have a lot to say about the importance of knowing when to leave a toxic situation.

Let’s be honest: Most people who seek family therapy are not dealing with homicidal royalty, but they are dealing with their own version of King Damon. Maybe it’s an overbearing parent who still insists on calling the shots in their adult child’s life.

Maybe it’s the sibling who turns every gathering into an opportunity to litigate childhood grievances. Maybe it’s the silent but deadly force of generational shame that makes even the thought of change feel impossible.

St. Dymphna’s story reminds us that breaking free from an unhealthy family system is rarely easy. There is real loss involved. But, sometimes the only way to heal is to run for Belgium and never look back.

The Legacy of Dymphna: Why Family Therapy is a Holy Calling

It’s worth noting that Geel, Belgium, the town where Dymphna was martyred, later became famous for its progressive treatment of mental illness.

By the Middle Ages, Geel had become a sanctuary for the mentally ill—people who, instead of being locked away, were taken into the homes of local families and treated with dignity and care. In other words, the first group homes.

Let that sink in.

The very place where a father’s unprocessed grief led to one of history’s worst parenting moments became, over time, a place where mental illness was met with compassion rather than exile.

It’s not a stretch to say that St. Dymphna’s story planted the seeds for modern family therapy. If anything, her story highlights two eternal truths:

• Left unchecked, pain turns into pathology. If we don’t acknowledge and work through our suffering, it finds ways to reappear—sometimes in our relationships, sometimes in our parenting, sometimes in decisions that make no logical sense to anyone except our wounded, grief-stricken selves.

• Healing happens in community. The best antidote to suffering is not isolation, but connection—real, honest, imperfect connection, where we let ourselves be seen and loved, madness and all.

• St. Dymphna’s story could have ended as just another tragic tale of human cruelty. Instead, it became something much bigger. It became a legacy of healing.

So the next time you find yourself white-knuckling through a family gathering where everyone is pretending they don’t remember the giant fight from three years ago, whisper a little prayer to St. Dymphna. She gets it. And unlike your Great Aunt Maureen, she won’t judge you for needing a pee break.

Closing Benediction

May we all find the courage of St. Dymphna,
May we set boundaries even when it’s hard,
May we never become the unhinged king in someone else’s life,
And may we all have the good sense to run for Belgium when necessary.

Amen.

Be Well, Stay Kind, and Godspeed.