My Reply

Well, after the last few weeks of therapeutic bliss I think I've gotten a bit cocky. It took overwhelming emotion to provide me with enough critical mass to overcome my deepest fear and send that email to my mum... and of course there are a whole new set of overwhelming emotions in its wake.

I am cradled in self-awareness. This would not be possible had I not learned how to contain my feelings and take care of myself in distress. It's still not as nice as being comforted by the unconditional love of a Real Mom or the empathic containment of a trained Therapist or even the sensitive acceptance of a concerned Friend.

There is something about letting someone bear witness to your experiences that grounds you in the world. This is important.

"You know what I've realised?" I pondered out the window. "I've had all of the ingredients for coping inside me all along. I just needed to do it with someone."

My therapist laughed.

I'm not convinced she understood me fully, but she does appreciate how vital making connections is for my mental well-being. I share so much on this blog, it can be easy for readers to forget how deeply isolated I was and still am. I think that is the miracle here. I think that is why I believe in my own resilience now, where I didn't six months ago.

I managed a reply this morning. 24 hours isn't such a bad turnaround, when you think about it.

Thanks for your reply, mum. It's still very difficult for me to take all of that in, and I'm not sure what to say. It scares me to hear you say that you love the woman I've become, because the woman I've become is, yes, independent and successful, but also incredibly isolated, unhappy, unhealthy and hurt.

I am glad you like video-chatting, but I don't like doing the videos because I feel under scrutiny, like an animal at the zoo. It is difficult for me to relax and be myself.

I do want to get to know you better, and I do want to open up more to you. But it's scary! I can't think of anything else in the world I'm more terrified of. It will take time. If you want to better understand what I experience, this FAQ is a good start:

http://www.isst-d.org/education/faq-dissociation.htm

I understand if reading it makes you anxious or upset or confused or ____. I'm not scared of your feelings and my only expectation from you is that you make an effort to share them with me, as I will try my best to share mine with yours (no matter how scary they are). I want to focus on the present and will try to include you more in my current and future experiences.

Today is Drew's birthday. He opened the presents earlier this morning and was very excited with all of them. I'm sure he'll thank you himself later. Tell my cousin we said hi and that we miss them and hope they will enjoy the fair for us this year and please send us pictures. I don't feel up to video-chatting with anyone today but look forward to video chatting in the future.

love,

Eliza

I still feel dangerously disconnected, but I continue to practice everything I've learned and I know: the terror (overwhelming though it sometimes is) has been contained. It will only grow smaller from here.

There is no panic button!

I've been avoiding this all day, but really that's just ruining my day so let's get to it.

I love you Eliza.
And I love the woman you have become. I am very proud of you. I love our skype sessions, because I get to see you when I talk to you.
I miss you.
Let's figure it out together. what next?

WWTD? (What would my Therapist do?)

How do I feel?

Scared. Like I'm right back at the beginning of therapy sessions facing the 'Kind Stranger' -- split between wanting to connect (attach, share, be seen) and wanting to run away. Self versus Self. The anxiety builds. But I'm focused on the battle; I don't notice what it is doing to my body. And when my therapist asks her first question, I ignore the battle entirely and perform.

Ahh, the essence of a dissociative disorder.

So, we're scared.

I am still trying to figure out how far I can push myself here. EP-Sad and EP-Happy are starting to integrate, but they are still children. Emotionally, I am still a child somewhere between latency and adolescence. I thought maybe I could create an Adult Eliza by acting like an adult, but now I see it isn't quite so simple.

I realised something both overwhelming and humiliating today.

I may have tackled most of the attachment disorder, and some of the dissociation, but I still all of the trauma left to process: my aversion to touch, my fear of intimacy, my PTSD triggers, my flashbacks, my nightmares, and more.

In the spirit of responsibility, I've realised just how much of the pathology in our relationship is because of me. This isn't blame; this is acknowledgment. I was the broken one. He changed his form to match mine. And now I'm pointing fingers at reinforcing behaviours that I essentially reinforced in him. Ugh. What a vicious circle, eh?

My therapist insists it can change. Drew and I certainly both agree on what is wrong and what needs to change. That's a start, right?

But I'm starting to falter under these expectations which now seem unrealistic.

What couples/sex therapist could possibly be willing to work on a marriage of someone with a dissociative disorder? Alternatively, how can I do this alone?

It is so easy to become overwhelmed by all of the 'splits' I find inside. It is the most challenging part of myself to accept. Beyond radical. I still hover somewhere between unwilling and disbelief. But an angry plea of 'Why can I just be normal?!' just reinforces the traumatic abuse and lack of acceptance that underpins the disorder.

One step forward. Two steps back.

I barely understand this myself. How could I possibly explain it to my emotionally-unavailable mum? "I'm sorry, I know I was authentic just yesterday but now I've been triggered by our growing attachment. I must defend myself against these threatening feelings otherwise I will dissociate completely." If that doesn't evoke a loving response from my caregiver, I don't know what will... /sarcasm

The heart of this panic is simple. I'm attached to my therapist. At some point, that healthy attachment trumped the disorganised attachment with my husband which had long since destroyed whatever attachment was left to my parents. And though my brilliant Parent parts know precisely that this therapeutic relationship is ending and I need to seek more healthy attachments elsewhere, my Child parts still have so much trauma to heal from.

I'm fairly confident that peace talks in the middle east would be easier than negotiating between these two sides. Patience. Persistence. Acceptance.

There are two people in the world who love me more than anything.

Why am I so afraid of that?

Fantasy

I used to escape by writing stories. I built entire worlds in my head and lived for hours in my imagination. Hours turned into days turned into years, and suddenly I couldn't write anymore because why put down words when in the space of a breath I could be there in my mind, walking those paths, touching those characters, feeling the emotions I was never allowed to feel as Eliza.

Yes, I may have lost a childhood but the places I spent instead were magical (literally). I know they were not real, but they are the playgrounds of my heart. I grew up in my mind.

So apologies to everyone if I find it hard to leave. Fantasy is one defense I am not yet willing to lose.

Have you heard? Have you heard about this girl who was ripped up by her roots?
Have you heard what she learned? Like humility, you win when you lose.

Pure Imagination

If you want to view paradise
Simply look around and view it
Anything you want to, do it

Never Enough (Maybe)

I think it is very telling that the Wordle of my About Me page screams 'Never Enough (Maybe)'. What noncommittal perfectionism and shame. ;-) How very Eliza.

Potential new tagline for Eliza's post-therapy world?

Integration

Once I let him go completely, I felt it: a sweet rush of resentment and grief covering the longing that I dissociated years and years ago to protect myself from further trauma. He loves me so much; he treats me so well. He accepts me completely. But though I loved him, though I chose to move thousands of miles for him, giving up everything, starting anew, still I pushed him away.

There was something in that pattern -- something that only made sense once I stepped as far back as I could go. I let him go completely, let go of the guilt I couldn’t make sense of, and let go of the defenses.

It was simple after that. I missed my family. I didn’t want to leave. I was happy before I came here. I loved him and I resented him for the same reasons I resented my parents when they moved me away from Supercity. I pushed them away like I pushed him: because I couldn’t cope loving and hating him at the same time. Because I couldn’t cope loving and hating my parents, too.

So I split. I split then; I split again. And last night, I integrated.

These aren’t metaphors. It was EP-Happy who was angry, resentful and hurt. Once I was able to feel those emotions, I was able to access so many happy memories with my parents and with my husband that I had previously dissociated. I knew something important happened.

I knew I couldn’t let this opportunity for authenticity pass me by. It was the moment I was struggling to find, an opening to my Real Mom.

I let him go so I could make room for her.

She may never understand what it took to get me here. She may reject me today or tomorrow or the next day. That’s her choice. But I, I did what I needed to do for me. I did the best I could. I will continue to do the best I can.

As for how I feel now that I’ve integrated EP-Happy and EP-Sad, well, I’m exhausted. My head aches. I could cry on demand. But I like being able to remember all of the nice things my mum did for me, even and especially when I’m so terribly sad. I remember all of the not-so-nice things they did to me as well, the times when I needed them terribly, and the times when I hurt them in return.

It’s a whole lot of emotion in that bowl, now. My emotion. My responsibility.
And that is what grounds me now.

Me.



Read on the NHS Choices blog.

In my Sent Mail box

Dear Mum,

I need to say something. It's hard for me. I'm sorry I cannot be there to say it in person.

When we moved from SuperCity, I felt like I lost everything. I felt like I lost you. I didn't know how to say it then, or any of the other times, but I missed you, mum. I miss you.

I know you tried your best. I tried my best, too. I want you to know me. I need to know you. I need my mum.

It's okay if you don't know what to say. I know it is hard for you to express yourself too. I just need you to accept me and give me a chance to accept you.

These years have been so hard, but I have learned so much. I want to share it with you. I don't really know how. Can we figure it out together?

Love,

Eliza

Congruence & Longing

I went to therapy with a laundry list of emotions to answer the inevitable 'How is Eliza today' question posed at the beginning of each session.

I left feeling deeply sad about the upcoming ending.

There was a whole lot of stuff in between that had nothing at all to do with the end of therapy. It had to do with me.

MY FEELINGS ARE MY RESPONSIBILITY.

The message was loud and clear. As for the details, I'm going to play the confidentiality card for the first time here. No details for you. It is far too close to my heart. But you can have the moral of the story! Ultimately, in the battle of authenticity and kindness, kindness wins. Expressing ourselves impacts on people, and we need to make sure we don't hold them responsible for what is ultimately ours to contain.

The good news is that I was able to talk about my problem with a friend and though it doesn't change how I feel, at least I'm able to share how I feel and continue to grow in our friendship. At least someone else is witness to my struggle. Someone else is growing to respect me for me.

That was congruence. Now here is an abstraction of the longing.

Someone is going to get hurt.

"Me." I said quickly and forcefully. It is always me.

"It doesn't have to be you." She said gently.

It doesn't have to be. But it will.

Twitter

You can now find me on twitter. I'm still getting used to it! Please add me and suggest some other people to follow.

Expressive Arts Carnival Activity No. 13

Part 1: Think of someone you look up to, real or imaginary, who has taught you something you can use (or do use) in your healing. Describe either the characteristics of the person, what they told you, or how you have been helped. Use expressive writing by telling a story, writing a poem, or anything that makes sense to you. If you have a blog, you can feel free to publish this writing on your blog. But you will not submit this writing as your entry.

Part 2: For your entry, select three words from your writing that have particular meaning to you and also one color (or HEX color code) that you would like to associate with these words.

I will then create a single word cloud combining the three words from each submission.

As usual, you may also send up to a few sentences to say what the process was like for you or what this activity meant to you. It is up to you whether you want to identify which words are yours.

Expressive Arts Carnival Activity No. 13

Authentic - Kind - Hope

Hex colour: #6666FF

This exercise was meaningful because my therapist and I are facing our last sessions together. I have been reflecting on what I brought to therapy (hope), what she taught me (being kind), and ultimately what we achieved together: learning to value and express my authentic self.

I'm limited (just look at me)

Jazzy metaphors and psychobabble aside, now. How do I feel about it all?

I feel scared. I'm making a lot of assumptions about my ability to build up my Adult self, essentially integrating all of my parts, on my own. But even in therapy, nobody can do that work but myself. It's nice to have a cheerleader or a teacher or a guide or a place of safety... but I can find each of those things out in the world. It's not impossible. I'm scared, but that fear won't keep me from trying.

I feel proud. Looking back over my entries in the last month, I see a fevered pace. I can't point out the exact time when I became attached to my therapist or when everything clicked, because the attachment didn't happen overnight and because the process of therapy has been a series of different and successive 'clicks'. I think fondly of my sense of achievement and articulating my plan of therapy in practice and in pictures.

I am angry. I've only just learned how to trust others, including my therapist. There is so much I want to share with her now, but it's ending.

I feel sad.

I feel grateful.

(Glinda):
I've heard it said that people come into our lives for a reason,
Bringing something we must learn
And we are led to those who help us most to grow
If we let them and we help them in return
Well, I don't know if I believe that's true
But I know I'm who I am today
Because I knew you...

Like a comet pulled from orbit as it passes a sun
Like a stream that meets a boulder halfway through the wood
Who can say if I've been changed for the better?
But because I knew you
I have been changed for good

(Elphaba):
It well may be that we will never meet again in this lifetime
So let me say before we part
So much of me is made of what I learned from you
You'll be with me like a handprint on my heart
And now whatever way our stories end
I know you have re-written mine by being my friend...

Being an Adult is hard

My husband's broken bits aside, the reason I still have loads to work on myself is because of my dissociative disorder (or complex PTSD, if you prefer that label). I have only just formed a 'Nurturing Parent' part. The power balance between my Child and Parent parts, in combination with the intense work of therapy, has helped me to feel more secure and make decisions which reflect Eliza the Adult.

But it's not all Transactional Analysis and games here. There's still the whole business of me not letting my emotional parts experience life. They are stuck in absurdly young developmental periods. I've been working on the infant one's Big Request of a Responsive and Loving Mommy (a Real Mom), but the next most present Child part is waffling between two stages (latency <--> puberty). This poses different problems (and also explains my OCD). My latency Child is not interested in a sexual relationship with my husband. My puberty Child is interested in sexual relationships with everyone BUT my husband. My Parents are too controlling, and even the Adult Eliza concedes to moral obligations. For the time being, my Child parts are stuck in the latency period.

Grr. Argh.

The Adult Eliza emerges from a healthy balance between the Child and Parent parts. But having been operating from a defensive fortress of infantile helplessness for so long, being Adult Eliza is quite an unfamiliar, anxious place to be. It is scary taking care of myself. I'm forcing myself to take steps in days that a child would take in years.

It's an unfair process.

Being married makes it that much harder. I have much less freedom to discover who Eliza is, what Eliza likes, and what Eliza is capable of. I have debts, responsibilities, commitments. I cannot grow naturally even if I wanted to (and oh do I want to).

I'm still not entirely sure it will work. My Super-Experienced Psychotherapist (Number 1) didn't hesitate to express her disdain for my plans in supporting my husband's growth alongside my own. I concede her point: the majority of clients are in therapy because they can't support their own growth. And from her point of view, I was inexperienced. It is a waste of energy to help someone change who doesn't actually WANT to change. But neither of us appreciated my inability to accept 'Nigh Impossible' as a valid reason not to try. Erm, what I mean is: all the best advice suggests I should give up now. I say Fuck All The Best Advice! (In Glitter and Flashing Lights)

This feeling I'm familiar with -- drudging through a thick, complex soup of a life. All the weight of potential failure on my back; muscles moving me slow and heavy. This I can do.

Easy? Happy? Simple? Not so much.

I'm doing the best I can. It's just that my 'Best' usually means avoiding the easy route. When I see where I need to be, I do everything to get me there, and fuck the odds. Who needs odds when they have a relentless, obsessive, and brilliant mind? Odds don't apply here. Normal standards will never relate. This isn't a charmed life. I'm not a cat. I land smack on my back and still find a way to learn to walk again.

And this is part of Being Eliza. Surely Super-Experienced Therapist (Number 1) can at least give me that. This is authentically me, the bit I find easiest to hang on to.

The problem with my marriage is that (regardless of how we started), we've managed to get ourselves into the habit of being the Child to our partner's Parent and vice versa. We never meet as Adults. Children need nurturing. Parents need to nurture. Adults have sex. Guess what we don't have?

Strangely, I didn't introject my husband as a model for Nurturing Parent. I think that says a lot about how unhealthy our traditional Parent parts really are. Mine is Controlling. His does the chores. Neither fostered emotional authenticity. Well, mine tried to, in a controlling way. (That doesn't work so well with an Avoidant, btw).

Now that I have a Proper Parent (tiny though she is) inside, I can demand changes with a bit more confidence. I can face the prospect of losing my only external source of security, something which felt too painful to bear earlier this year. Believe me, I'd grieve. But I'm already grieving. I lost my Real Mom before I had a chance to learn what a Real Mom was. I've been grieving ever since. The desire to find a Real Mom overwhelms every other desire, and I'm Adult enough now to know that until I do find a healthy source for that connection, I will never be able to have a healthy, Adult relationship with anyone, nevermind my husband.

The back-up plan is self-parenting. Being my own Real Mom. It is likely my only option, as there are no valid contenders for this extra-special job opening (Advert pending).

Next week, my Therapist will ask how I feel about the upcoming ending and I will probably not cry, even though I've fought back tears f-i-v-e t-i-m-e-s (shhhh) in the last two days alone. I don't need an interpreter this time. My Child parts are pretty darn clear: why can't SHE be my Real Mom? Chances are, my Big Plans of seeking out a Real Mom in my real mom will fail, not least of all because I'll be operating alone, across 3000 miles. I need her (that ever-elusive Real Mom). In lieu of her (and with respect to therapeutic boundaries), I need my Therapist.

But we can't always have what we need. Sometimes, we are forced to make do.

It will be hard to support my real mom in learning to be my Real Mom, while I'm already supporting my husband to be a Real Adult, and especially as I'm so tirelessly working at becoming a Real Adult myself (so I can be a Real Mom someday with my Real Adult Husband).

I know my limits. It's a fraction of the joy, but parenting myself will have to suffice. We never know what the next year will bring. Maybe a Real Mom will present itself. Maybe it will be my real mom.

For now, the Adult Eliza is stuck negotiating all of these ('Nigh Impossible') needs.

Alone, in T-3 sessions.

Still Broken and Breaking More

By the recent posts, you might think that Eliza is All Fixed (isn't therapy wonderful) but I must disappoint you. I am still just as broken as before. Maybe even more broken, since now I see it all so clearly and feel it so intimately: every inconsistency, every defensive twitch, every anxious twitter, and every obsessive thought.

My house is still a mess.
I still forget to brush my teeth and shower regularly.
The migraines still plague me several times a week...
..possibly because my diet has never been worse (and my weight has never been higher).
My marriage has almost completely broken down.

My husband said he doesn't believe people can change. He doesn't see how I've changed. It was the first honest and reflective thing he said that night. I paused and considered how I felt. Sad. I felt sad that he couldn't see how much has changed for me. Curious. I felt curious about what I could do to express the internal changes more. Angry. I felt angry because I knew that part of the reason he doesn't see the changes are because they aren't happy changes for him.

I'm pushing him to express himself emotionally and authentically, but he's used to avoiding it. I want to talk about mistakes and express how I feel and negotiate compromises, whereas he is content to keep it all inside and resents me 'criticising' him. He is where I was before I started therapy. And he's resisting me now, like I resisted my therapist. He's afraid of hurting me, so he withholds his anger. He doesn't realise how bad that is. He doesn't understand why I now ask him to know and express himself, how withholding himself is a far greater punishment than hurting me.

So after months (years?) of persistently and patiently requesting, he's finally agreed to trying three sessions of couples therapy.

Will he resist the therapist? Will he interpret her role as being 2 against 1? Will he become even more defensive? Or will having a third party involved help him relax and face his fears?

It is a scary time. I'm sure he feels even more scared than me. He doesn't have the internal containment I've worked so hard for, after all. He doesn't have the confidence in himself. He isn't as comfortable feeling scared or hurt or sad. He feels betrayed by the wife who, after five years of marriage, now tells him that he doesn't know her, that the way he treats himself and her is broken, and that he can change but he has to want it for himself. That isn't love, not as he knows it. But it is love to me.

"You are committed to him." My therapist said. I sighed, resisting. Am I? I don't feel committed, but then what does that mean? Does commitment mean attraction? Does it mean an ever-present feeling of desire or a sexual attachment?

"I guess." No, it means acknowledging the past, accepting the present, and passing no judgment on the future. "No, I am committed." I am emboldened with this thought. I've sacrificed a lot of myself for this relationship. I have a realistic understanding of us both. Despite that, I have been patient throughout these challenges and changes. I've refused to put deadlines on anything. I respect us as we are. Moreover, I am prepared to do everything I can to make this better. To make us better.

And I trust in that process. I am committed to my husband. Commitment transforms promises into reality. In his insecurity and avoidance, he may see my efforts as the cause of his pain, but I know better. And if, in the end, our marriage breaks down, at least I have the knowledge and the feeling that I have done everything I could.

This could be much simpler. I've told him so many times, it would be easier for him to give up now. There are simpler, kinder, less questioning women out there who want nothing more than a simple, kind, less questioning man. If our worth was judged by behaviour in 'good times' alone, my husband would be a saint. He doesn't see how he needs to change because I am the only person telling him something is wrong. To everyone else, he's that perfectly adapted child -- submissive, smiling, and respectful. Who wouldn't want my husband? I married him for that calm, unconfrontational nature and now I'm telling him that isn't enough. That I need more.

No wonder he feels betrayed and confused. He doesn't want to change. He shouldn't have to. He doesn't need to, unless...


...unless he means it when he says he loves me. That he wants me. That he wants our marriage to work. So there is the conundrum. Is it easier to accept that you are broken in order to be with the person you love? Or to stick by yourself and give up the person you love most? To do the latter requires a huge amount of security and self-confidence, something I know for certain he doesn't have. Instead we have the third option: avoidance. For years this question has hung in between us, and I am the ONLY PERSON in this two-person marriage asking it. I am that ONLY PERSON because he avoids it. He feels safer avoiding it, accepting our half-marriage, than ask it because he is lacking the confidence to give me up.

He is, in a word, broken.

"Don't you love me?" He sits next to me, staring fixedly at his hands. He can't look me in the eye.

I pull his face towards mine. "We are broken, Drew. If someone you loved had diabetes, you would want them to get treatment for that." Love, a fuller love, means asking for more.

He wishes I loved him enough to accept him as he is.
I wish he loved me enough to ask for more.

Containment, Part 2

Today's therapy was full of emotion. Chock FULL of emotion. Well, there was still quite a bit of intellectualising, but I am my own barometer of emotional authenticity. I know how present I was.

Very!

I updated my Inside Eliza story to add two new characters and alter the ending. I had shared the story with my therapist a few sessions ago, acknowledging that the last few episodes were just a guess as I hadn't reached that point yet. True to form, I had progressed in a different and unexpected way, so I updated my slides to reflect that change. I'll post the updated story here soon.

My therapist was very interested to see the updates, especially the inclusion of her as an outside worker and the new part of the 'Nurturing Parent.' I explained to her that it was because of our relationship that I was able to see this part of me take shape. She smiled and said, "Thank you." But I didn't quite hear her at first, being too busy saying "Thank you" myself. So she repeated herself. And I looked her in the eye and smiled.

We talked about my week. We talked about how I felt at the beginning of therapy. We talked about how I feel about the ending of therapy. We talked about how I plan to get to the end of my Inside Eliza story.

I am building my Nurturing Parent up through caring for the authentic selves of others, but being mindful to learn that as I am compassionate to others, so may others be compassionate to me. In other words, I can trust others. I can give others the opportunity to earn my trust.

I am actively seeking out ways I can get my needs* met. *Needs primarily referring to my need for a loving, responsive parent. I see that desire, so overwhelming, inside me. There is a huge motivation to get that need met. Can my own biological parents provide that for me?

"I'm a different person now. I'm not that helpless child." I have more knowledge. Different resources. "I can say what I need. And if they aren't able to provide it, well..." I can take care of myself. I can try again elsewhere.

"I can cope."

And how does Eliza feel about that?

I took a deep breath and turned my concentration towards the stirring inside. "Grief." I pulled at strands. "Sad." But mostly... "Relieved. Secure." I paused and gestured my hands in the shape of a bowl close to my chest. "Like the container is inside me. Instead of way out there." My hand swept towards the window, as I looked pensively within. We sat for a moment.

"I'm proud of you." She looked at me intently. "Do you know why?"

I stifled a chuckle in my usual way, my lips curving. "Because I'm meeting the goals we set at the beginning of therapy." She nodded. "Because there was no guarantee we'd get to this point." She kept nodding. The smile became a playful grin. "Because it involves a lot of hard work on behalf of the client."

She laughed. "And what paragraph does that come from?"

I didn't reply, because I understood. She understood. I understood she understood. She understood I understood she understood. Me.

I felt like me.




Read on the NHS Choices Blog.

I will wake up happy (I wonder why)

It felt like springtime on this February morning
In the courtyard birds were singing your praise
I'm still recalling things you said to make me feel alright
I carry them with me today

Now, as I lay me down to sleep
This I pray: that you will hold me dear though I'm far away
I'll whisper your name into the sky
And I will wake up happy

I wonder why I feel so high
Though I am not above the sorrow
Heavy-hearted til you call my name
And it sounds like church bells
Or the whistle of a train on a summer evening
I'll run to meet you, barefoot, barely breathing

Containment, Part 1

Well the last couple days haven’t been great. I’ve been in considerable pain despite having the maximum dosage of ibuprofen (isn’t the female reproductive cycle a beautiful thing) and the hormonal changes also normally bring a killer migraine, associated with high levels of anxiety and depersonalisation. True to form, I woke up today feeling like I was dying. I can call on the emptiness at any time, and part of me wonders if dissociation isn’t a protective defense here.

I understand infants naturally use a variety of defenses in the short term to protect themselves from pain. The problem is when they become ingrained or habitualised. As long as I am using dissociation as a temporary measure while I build up the knowledge and resources necessary to tackle the Nameless Dread... maybe it's okay.

I cannot deny: I don’t know how to make this feeling go away, whether it’s possible for the feeling to go away, and if anything bad will happen to me as a result of this feeling. I am afraid. But I know how to manage the fear. I can listen to, sit with, accept the fear.

I can also make more of an effort to feel safe, contained, and connected. Yes, I feel detached and empty, and I didn’t ask to feel this way, but I don’t have to act that way. And I certainly can feel differently.

So I spend time in myself and for every sharp edge of anxiety, I pull on a softer memory of acceptance. My heart races? I focus on my breath.

I am so far from ‘good’ at this. Just take a look at all of the chocolate and biscuit wrappers in my bin. The Control Freak could join forces with the Inner Bully and make me feel horrible for treating myself so poorly. I work in public health; I should know better. But the Nurturing Parent knows how hard I’ve been working, how much effort I’ve put into caring for others, and how much pain I was in the last few days. Therefore Adult Eliza accepts that yes I need to develop a healthier balance, and yes I need to prioritise healthy meals and exercise, but also yes I am at special risk for a mental health crisis today and therefore not capable of making those changes. Tomorrow, maybe. Today, certainly not.

Today I need compassion, not change.

After a hurricane comes a rainbow?

It's four sessions until my therapy is over, and I find myself pushing dangerously at the edge of my budding self-confidence. Is it because I want expand the borders of my confidence as much as possible before leaving the safety of my therapeutic relationship? Or because I can still go to her with the fall-out of my latest mistakes?

A little of both.

Each day since the Best Therapy Ever, I've found a way to be authentic with another person, opening myself up to new and deeper connections with myself and with others. Today's bit of authenticity was more risky. I tackled the very reason I referred myself for therapy two years ago.

How do I feel, having sent that letter? Courageous. Proud. But also fragile, vulnerable, scared. It was a simple, honest and apologetic letter, asking for nothing. I hope I'll get nothing in return, but in reality I'm already getting the point of this exercise.

Learning how to let go.

I sent that letter for myself, to give myself the chance to be authentic that I didn't have back then. To take responsibility for my behaviour and my inadequacies. Two years too late? I'm not sure I believe in "too late." That presumes some sort of unrelenting standard. Because of that painful situation, I fell apart so much I finally sought and received the specialist psychotherapy I needed. I feel sad about disappointing and hurting someone, but I've worked tirelessly to do better, to be more, since.

"Maybe those other people don’t want to believe they can change, because they are afraid of what is between This Me and That Me. That person in between is in transition: more incomplete than ever, more hypocritical, more indecisive, and more fragile.

It’s sensible to be afraid. Changing my shape also means changing the shape people have formed around me: more loss, more conflict, but also more opportunities. People will resist me, pulling me back into the drama and games." - Going Back to Go Forward 2

I am in danger of holding on too tightly to how my inadequacies have limited or destroyed all of my relationships over time. My feelings matter, too. This acceptance I have of other people's emotions needs to somehow turn inwards. There will come a day when I need to express how something makes me feel and trust other people to respect that as much as I'm learning how to respect theirs.

It's still too easy to deny my own feelings. Easier still when filled with the emotions of others. I hear my therapist echoing: Take care of Eliza. Do something relaxing. Do something fun.

What was unsaid: Enjoy the sense of achievement. Be comfortable feeling safe. Appreciate what I have. Listen to myself.

Learn to let go.

"I'm sick of this mental self-harming. I'll never take off my super-shield of dissociation unless I stop showering myself with Stigma bullets.

Can we work our way backwards? Maybe treating ourselves with compassion means letting ourselves be crazy." - Stigma, Meet Truth. Truth, Meet Stigma.

This was the turning point. This was right on the money. This is when the Inner Bully lost her bite. This is when I knew I cracked it. I cracked open myself.

What do I want from the last four sessions of therapy ahead?

I want to talk about this journey, the one I've shared from start to finish here. I want to talk about how I felt at each stage, because I wasn't capable of it then. I want my therapist to see all I am and all I've done. I want her to be proud of me. I want her to see the pride in me. I want her to share that feeling, to show me it's worth feeling. I have every right feeling that way. My feelings make sense, and they are worth listening to.

I am worth listening to.

Just be yourself

Cardboard masks of all the people I've been
Thrown out with all the rusted, tangled, dented God-Damned miseries!

Building Self-Confidence 110

My OCD is happy. I'm graduating my from self-managed course on Building Self-Confidence on the tenth lesson. Yay even numbers.

Why am I giving myself permission to graduate?

Wednesday I had a difficult but engaging therapy session. That evening I spent being emotionally authentic (and promoting emotional authenticity) through supporting a friend. Thursday I had a difficult but exciting day meeting my new tutors and classmates. My anxiety (OCD) was triggered as usual by meeting new people I want desperately to like me ...and I tried very hard to sit with the feelings of self-hatred and self-doubt, but my body is too used to deteriorating into depersonalisation. So how did I fight it? Last night was spent being emotionally authentic (and promoting emotional authenticity) with my husband.

That's right, I pushed through the depersonalisation. Instead of waiting it out, I questioned what was contributing to my depersonalisation (aka my husband's tendency to act like my parents and ignore my bad feelings) and had a frank and difficult conversation. What made it work? Being both authentic and kind.

This morning, some bad stuff has happened which has triggered a colleague of mine. I noticed her distress and sat with her through it. Would this have been possible for either her or myself had I not expressed myself authentically to her last week and invited her to do the same?

I’m sitting here on my lunch hour reflecting on these three different connections I’ve made in the past three days. Each time, I’ve made a considered point in valuing the authenticity of others. I reassured them that it was okay to be in distress, that I’m not scared of their distress, and that I’m here for them. I asked how they were feeling, what they were thinking, and they trusted me enough to answer, even when it was very hard. For some of them, even overwhelming.

I left my friend on Wednesday and reflected on the fact that I didn’t offer her a hug though she was clearly processing some hard feelings. Maybe it would’ve been too difficult for her. But the fact that I didn’t think of it at the time shows how much I have to learn about being kind, about what other people need when they are in distress.

I didn’t hesitate to go up to my colleague today and immediately offered her a hug, asking her how she was and if she wanted to talk. …Maybe that shows how quickly I learn? Each opportunity I give this new part of me to grow, I see her more clearly: the Nurturing Parent.

Just like we introject our (often broken) parents into ourselves, we can introject other, better people. I’ve reached the best-case-scenario of psychotherapy. I have introjected my therapist.

Caring for others? Maybe that is my Authentic Self. I do have a choice. And based on how good I feel about myself right now, despite also containing feelings of sadness about my friends’ and husband’s distress, I can’t think of a single reason not to choose this for me.

And that’s how I realised my Building Self-Confidence course was done. I’ve graduated this introductory class. I’ve passed the final, maybe even with distinction.

Sense of Achievement, Number Two.



Read on the NHS Choices blog.

Best Therapy Ever

We are in the transition now -- aka the ending -- and I must say, if this is how endings go, I love endings! Maybe I'm getting more authentic in session. Maybe I realised something super-important this past week that unlocked a few key defences (more on that later). Maybe it's just that I realise in less than a month I am likely not to see her again, so I want to make the most of it. Maybe I've finally learned to trust her. Maybe the reason doesn't matter.

I don't want to lose this feeling. I feel proud. Happy. Secure.

It's amazing, really, considering what I realised this past week. But perhaps it is evidence of our hard work that I was able to take such difficult 'news' with such balanced grace and authentic feeling.


Sometimes my confidence wobbles. Sometimes I doubt myself. Sometimes my memory falters. Sometimes I'm overwhelmed. Sometimes I'm defensive. Sometimes I'm terrified. Sometimes I feel lousy. Sometimes I'm ashamed. Sometimes I'm suspicious. But more and more, that's all okay.

My 'Second Skin' is forming tighter and closer to me. I've found a way to contain the pain of my most smallest and youngest of parts: the part without identity or language. The Infant Me.

It will take time to learn new automatic pathways, but I believe in the plasticity of my brain. I can be for myself what my parents were not. And what I can't be, I can seek in others.

We can do this. Remember this feeling. For the first time in your entire life, there is something inside that bowl. Something you can see. Something of you.

The Art of Being Kind

My therapist lent me a book to read during our session last week: The Art of Being Kind by Stefan Einhorn. Most of the book is about why we should be kind, as evident through scientific research, cultural rules, and religions. It also discusses the tools we have, as human beings, which make us not only capable but motivated to act altruistically to others. The latter chapters give some instruction on being kind. I've summarised it for my reference:

Be generous (with praise)
Ask others for advice
Cultivate empathy (understanding of other's plight)
Take responsibility (for oneself)
Be a role model

The reason I am interested in being kind? I struggle to be kind to myself and therefore am inconsistent in being kind to others, often achieving it with unhealthy boundaries or at expense of myself. Scientific research has suggested that the body cannot differentiate between feeling something about someone else and feeling something about oneself (it triggers the same biochemical reactions), so with that in mind my next tactic in building self-compassion is to be compassionate to other people.

If I can experience how it feels to be authentically kind to other people, perhaps through meditation I can hold on to that feeling and someday feel it about myself.

Being kind also has the added benefit of building healthy connections to other people (something I am lacking) as well as developing healthier boundaries. I would like my "Adapted Children" to turn that strong desire to help into a mature desire to be kind.

So here are my ideas.

BE GENEROUS (WITH PRAISE)
This is hard for me, as I am quite critical. My OCD/Perfectionism is mostly turned inwards but I can easily forget that other people don't have the same unrelenting standards. It is simply that I focus on improving before taking the time to experience a sense of achievement or pride about a job well done. Unexpectedly, even when I do make a mess, it is challenging to look beyond the mess and focus on what I do well.

Can I do this for other people? Well the first step has been volunteering with young girls. I feel inadequate as a leader because it's all very new to me. So, to improve, I observe the other leaders, who give endless praise to the girls. I mimic their behaviours, and eventually finding praise becomes less "How pretty" and more "Look at those fantastic patterns that Julie made -- what a creative way of representing the flag."

Am I getting better at finding ways of praising others? In kids, maybe, but there is still a lot of energy needed to apply the same to adults. It involves disrupting my automatic thought process, which is forever moving forward, into looking at the present. Yesterday I generously and genuinely praised my husband. That evening, I broke through a wicked 2-day run of depersonalisation with an intense desire to be physically close (mind out of gutter, I don't mean sex, I mean the sort of intimacy babies enjoy with their mothers and that all humans crave). It was such a relief to be able to communicate some of my complex and confusing emotions and needs in such a way that actually resolved it. I wouldn't have been able to connect in that authentic and healthy way without losing my defenses.

Was praise really all it took? I have to admit, seeing him bloom under the praise felt really good, but what felt even better was feeling positive about my husband. I'd like to think this small experiment was a resounding success -- exceptional evidence for continuing with learning how to praise.


ASK OTHERS FOR ADVICE
This one I knew in feeling but not in practice. I was feeling very lonely and apart from everything, including myself, until I had tea with my old manager and then a good chat with a colleague. The common denominator is that they are both beautiful people that I admire greatly and wish desperately to be like. So in the course of being authentically myself with them (sad and searching), I actually found the direction I sorely needed. It felt wonderful to receive advice from two excellent people. And more so knowing now that they felt great about being able to help as well.

"Asking others for advice is a powerful tool, which when used can, for instance, lead to the realisation that we are surrounded by a great many wise people." The Art of Being Kind, p27

I am so pathologically self-sufficient, that I do find it difficult to ask advice. One, it reveals a level of authenticity and vulnerability that I was previously unwilling to show. Two, my perfectionism made it difficult to accept any unexpected criticism. But since I've taken down a lot of my defenses, I am slowly learning how to ask advice.

The problem with not knowing one's Self is that one doesn't really know what to ask advice on. Also, with minimal social connections, it is hard to feel safe around others. I'm grateful for this recent experience because it has reminded me that there are lovely, caring people out there who, although they may not know me now, are willing to know me, should I take the chance to ask them honestly how I can be more like them.

I work more closely with my colleague now, so I plan to exercise my "asking advice" tactic more often. It reassures me that I can desire to be more than I am and that I can change and that other people will support me in it.


CULTIVATE EMPATHY
I would suggest that, to be kind, one develops compassion and sympathy as well as empathy. I have an ocean of empathy (understanding of others') but very little ability or courage to do anything about it. Sympathy (while often associated with pity) is actually about being present for someone and sharing their experience intimately. Healthy boundaries aside, I could do well to improve my sympathy.

This is easiest to practice on my husband, as I have very few emotional connections with other people. But recently I've tried to be sympathetic with my colleagues. It was easy for me to feel what they were feeling, but harder for me to communicate that. Naturally, I've spent a lifetime hiding my feelings, so being emotionally authentic is a bigger problem than just being sympathetic.

I wonder, though, if a good way of improving my emotional intelligence is trying out ways of communicating about how I feel when I'm empathising? Feelings from other people are much less scary and overwhelming than feelings from me. And if I can learn how to speak about those feelings, maybe it will be easier to speak about my own.

Part of me thinks that this might also be the secret to helping others regulate themselves. Right now I feel a bit pathological trying to be sympathetic to others. It is an unnatural situation to me, but one I am very eager to experience.


TAKE RESPONSIBILITY
To some degree, I already do this. I recognise that I am my own agent of change. If I want things to be different, I need to take action.

"It is important to recognise a few simple things which we have a general tendency to forget.

• We are always part of the problems we experience.
• We have great power to contribute to their solution.
• We can learn a lot on the way and grow as individuals as a result.

If we want things to be different in our lives, then we ourselves have to take responsibility for that. no one else can do it for us. And if we see hindrances ahead of us, we must decide if they are real or merely excuses for the fact that we lack courage." The Art of Being Kind, p197

Part of taking responsibility though is acknowledging how our actions make others feel. Facing that shame and guilt is difficult even for the most well-adjusted adults. But I do believe taking the opportunity to repair connections can only be a good thing.

I am learning to take responsibility for my inauthenticity. When I am triggered or my defenses take over or I am unable to engage emotionally (such as when depersonalised), I can at least communicate why I am unable to be fully present. I take responsibility for my needs.

I struggle with self-care, even on the simplest level (remembering to brush my teeth every morning). No wonder then that I'm overwhelmed by owning a house. Keeping things tidy and clean? Such an impossible task. It's easy to write off responsibility because I can't bear to acknowledge my own obvious failings.

So what would taking responsibility over self-care mean? I suppose it means accepting that no one else will brush my teeth, wash my hair, fold my clothes; it is MY duty. By taking responsibility for those things, I am being kind to myself. That makes the Bully-Monster feel all Grr inside. I can tell this will be the hardest thing to achieve. But it is possible the most important one, because being able to take care of myself means I will also be able to take care of others. Right now that possibility seems very far away.


BE A ROLE MODEL
After the rest of the this, being a role model is almost a given. There are so few people who are truly kind in the world, they really stand out as role models. People (like myself) seek to follow them simply because they have such a rich life of social connections and self-worth -- not because they force us to change, but because they welcome us.

Can I be a role model? I like to think that even in my imperfection (because of my imperfection?) I share my thoughts, feelings and experiences on this blog specifically to help others model their own thoughts, feelings, and behaviours. When I read others' blogs, I look to model myself on them and learn different ways of being in the world.

I am grateful that my therapist lent me this book. While I already knew most of the background research (I went to graduate school to study altruism), it is important to review what we know, reflect on what it means to us now, and reprioritise our life accordingly. My therapist gave a name to what I have been struggling to be. That name is Kind.



Read on the NHS Choices blog.

Defenses & Kindness

The challenge of letting out EP-Happy and building my Authentic Self is not so much the rejection of me by other people but my rejection of other people. When I am working on something that has meaning to me, I am acutely sensitive to anything that isn't whole-hearted support. Hence, I've found safety working on projects in which I have little personal interest (but very high skill). It doesn't trigger any defenses when I make a mistake. Not that I ever really make mistakes...

Yesterday EP-Happy and I worked on some sewing projects. There was no goal, just experimentation and exploration, which is normal for EP-Happy. Creation for creation's sake: something out of something, and so on.

EP-Happy remembers her mother's stupid questions and her father's stupid suggestions. So when my husband wakes up finally and comes downstairs, he puts on that ingratiating voice, asking what EP-Happy is doing (uh, sewing of course). Really, he wants to know why. His words ask WHAT but the tone of his voice, a higher pitch and concerned, is asking WHY. Like EP-Happy's mother though he doesn't ask what he wants to know. And EP-Happy resents the intrusion. She's suspicious of his interest, like she learned to be suspicious of her mother's. She answers, guardedly, and ignores him.

But my husband persists. He asks to see what she's working on. He questions her choices. He makes suggestions.

EP-Happy gets sucked into the box, and all of my defenses rise to protect her. I know precisely what is happening, but it is still difficult to resist. I call him a controlling parent (that's the best I can do) and tell him that I feel defensive and hope he just LEAVES ME ALONE so I can be EP-Happy again.

EP-Happy's father is good at making suggestions and telling her she's doing it wrong. Even better than EP-Happy's mother. Sometimes, depending on his mood, he called her bad names and almost always blamed this abuse on her. EP-Happy can't cope with this sort of behaviour in her parent, so she tries to pick it out in all other people with the hope that this time we'll be able to defend ourselves.

Truthfully, my husband was being insensitive. I work with children; they are praise sponges. I spend an hour every week giving young girls opportunities to take responsibility and to express themselves, and I support them with (some) direction and (lots of) praise. I may be an adult, and he might be an adult, but we never lose our need for unconditional acceptance on behalf of our loved ones.

Did you hear that?

If you are unsure how to respond about the purse your daughter is making because you think it's the ugliest thing on earth, why not praise her INITIATIVE? Her DEDICATION? Her CREATIVITY? Her MOTIVATION? Her AMBITION? Or better yet, ask her what it means to her? Don't like the beads? Ask her what it means TO HER. Make HER matter, even if the purse doesn't.

It's not really that difficult. Or maybe it is. I know I have to work hard at being kind, at seeing people and making them matter to me. But I'm also working with an incomplete toolkit, having grown up in a household where being kind and supportive and emotionally aware weren't even in my parents' vocabulary. If I can bootstrap myself out of that mess, surely the more well-adjusted of you can develop that basic level of kindness?

We all just want to be seen, even (and especially) through our defenses.

Mindfulness & Migraines

Today I went to a course on mindfulness. Today I also had a migraine.

I meditated on Tara and compassion. It was difficult, because, as I mentioned, I had a migraine. Being in Stage 1, I was (1) detached and (2) able to fall asleep in a single relaxed breath. So, most of the meditation actually was great practice in mindfulness because my conscious brain was already so loosely holding on to the reigns of reality. Compassion - Sleep - Compassion - Sleep. The battle continues.

When I left, I could tell the migraine was entering Stage 2 (the pain stage) so I popped my Very First triptan. As you know, I really abhor medications. Last resort. So let it be said that it's been over four months of non-stop migraines before I broke down and accepted some pills. Not because I can't handle the pain, oh no, but because I want to see if they get rid of the depersonalisation/derealisation. Ironically, I didn't actually have that symptom in full force this migraine. Maybe next time.

The triptan did work as promised, though, including the (quite disturbing) side effects of flushed skin, gripping tightness in my throat/neck, and so on. The migraine went quite quickly into stage three, hovering between the 2-3 for two hours, before transitioning completely to three for 2-3 hours. I am safely out of the danger zone which is a great feeling because if I go to bed in stage three I often wake up in stage 1 again.

I'm not really concerned. But I do reserve the right to smirk louder next time the Buddhist teacher mentions tranquil abiding of pain.

The benefit of the course is that I have discovered I have great mindfulness... and utterly shit concentration. So if anyone knows of a course on concentration, I'm all ears (for a second or two).

Building Self-Confidence 109

Today at therapy, I shared the pictures from my Inside Eliza story. But before that, I shared some of Big Events and then read my letter.

It was difficult. I resisted the emotions for a portion of it. Not all of it, though, and I struggled on saying the last bit. But I didn't get overwhelmed. If anything, I was restrained. But I suppose 'holding back' is better than being overwhelmed or dissociating. My Tx asked me now and then to 'stay with the feeling' but I am never really sure what that means. As I practice more and more exploring how I feel and letting myself feel it, it's becoming easier to communicate while I'm feeling something.

It's even becoming possible to communicate when I'm feeling something.

"We're looking at 5-7 sessions left."

I turned away and stared at the pictures we laid out on the floor. This wasn't a surprise. I brought up the issue of 'ending' at our last session, two weeks ago. She mentioned the end of summer. I panicked then. Somehow 5 seems worse.

But over the last two weeks I've consolidated my learnings into a strategy, which I communicated to my Tx today through pictures. I wanted to show her that I understood what an ending meant, that I was grateful for all the time we spent together, because together we've changed me, and that she will be leaving me in good hands... my hands.

I hesitated, full of thoughts and feelings. "That made me sad."

She nodded.

"But it's also why I did this." I gestured to all of my pictures on the floor. "To have a plan, for when I'm not here anymore." I looked her in the eyes as she affirmed my plan (oh the newfound confidence). But I wasn't listening. Something bubbled inside. The world became fuzzy, which is a poetic way of saying my eyes became glassy with tears. I blinked as I interrupted her.

"It is incredibly complex, this self-management programme, but I'm confident with most of it. I.." I faltered. She waited patiently. The waves of emotions were churning inside.

"I'm afraid I'll not have the one thing that got me this far. The one thing that matters." The emotion had reached the tip of my tongue and held my breath hostage. "The..."

She was nodding emphatically. "Just say it. Say the word."

I was being blinded by my own vulnerability. But I held on to my desire to share that I understood. I rode that wave until the words were out of my mouth and my hands gestured to her: "The connection."

She sat back. Did she smile? Was she still nodding? I am sorry; I didn't notice. I don't remember.

What I do remember is how I felt. Hopeful. Yearning. Sad. Fragile. Little. Real.



Read on the NHS Choices blog.

Every day is another chance to do better.

Of course it goes (nearly) without saying that the 'missing piece' mentioned in the last post was a healthy attachment.

(Seems like I can finally rest my head on something real. I like the way that feels.)



Here is some cheesy pop. It's time for me to switch into compassionate mode. We need all of our energy for tomorrow.

I am a sucker for punishment

My OCD was triggered again this evening, and like a moth to the flame, I reached for That Letter because I knew it would match my mood. And we are always searching for fire-fodder, eh?

This letter makes me feel so many emotions.

The first one is shame, because there are one or two incorrect words (your for you're) and a grotesque over-use of dashes (even though it does accurately reflect my voice, with its perpetual 'asides'). And then of course the shame over my awkward vulnerability and violent self-hate.

The letter is a plea to myself. The letter shows not only my pain, but how I learned to cope with it. The letter is archaeological evidence for the Birth of both the Control Freak and the Inner Bully -- the splitting, domination, and repression of my Authentic Self.

The letter is very, very hard to read.

The second feeling is sadness, because side-by-side with the self-hatred is hope. They live in such different places now, but back then they were together.

Her name is JJ. I started writing to her when my Aunt gave me my first journal, age 12. The first J was taken from my BestestFriendEver from Supercity. One J wasn't enough, so I gave her two.

My journal was supposed to be hidden. I was supposed to write my thoughts. But in reality, I thought nowhere was safe, so I wrote precisely what I thought my thoughts should be. And so the Modern Me was born. I was desperate for direction. No surprise, considering I was actively dissociating my real thoughts and feelings. Thoughts and feelings I have access to now, by the way, which makes it that much more painful to read.

Eventually the facade begins to break down. Words are crossed out. Tirades are appended. The main theme is indecision and confusion: a schizophrenic switching between Delusional Confidence and Crippling Insecurity. Otherwise known as adolescence.

In the midst of crises, a few admissions:

"Where do I belong? No one will accept me. Cornelia's group thinks I'm a snob. Penelope's group thinks I'm a geek. In my old school we could be ourselves and still be popular. Everything's changed. I changed and I don't want it to change. ... How come I changed? Why did I ruin everything and how?"

Sometimes JJ wrote. Sometimes I wrote. Sometimes we wrote on each other's writing. By the time I went to camp, we had been writing for just over 18 months. The letter is more complete (showing all the different parts of me) than anything in my journal.

Speaking of the journal, I need to stop reading it. Like most of my blog entries, it makes me woozy and flashback. Memories shouldn't be so vivid. When I read an entry, I don't just read the entry. I remember writing it. I remember everything I didn't write. I remember how I felt. I return there, exactly where I never wanted to be.

I felt sick. I felt terrified. I felt like I was the only one in the world to feel so apart from everything. I felt like I was missing some important ingredient that made the world make sense.

I felt positively insane. Straight-up crazy. So crazy, I did anything and everything to prove how normal I could be. I built a Person from scratch. My defenses: dissociation, denial, distortion, splitting, fantasy, idealisation, passive aggression, projection, displacement, isolation, reaction formation, undoing... yes, practically every single one in the book. I had a lot to defend against.

So perhaps the last decade of my life wasn't so wasted, since I've managed to overcome most of those. These journals are worth 10000x their weight in pain, but they also show my growth. My individual battle to be more than I was.

Everything else in my life might have been filled with ambivalence, confusion, and insecurity, but the emptiness only made it easier to see how much I desired to Beat This Thing.

Hope.

JJ: "Yes, I am a Changer, a Wanderer, willing and wanting change. Changers don't want love. No, we don't. We prefer experiencing every single feeling we can get our paws on. We force ourselves to hurt, to live, to cry, to love, to be broken-hearted, to experience relief, but also happiness. Just so we are the toughest creatures on Earth. Hell, practice makes perfect. And yes we are rare. But not valuable. In fact, we are worthless. We are worth nothing. And we don't care."

Eliza: "Or maybe we do."

Doesn't that just say it all?

I just turned 13.

Inside Eliza

Once upon a time there was small house sitting in a beautiful but empty field. The small house was very well built. So well built, in fact, that nothing was able to get in or out, not even sound. And oh, was it noisy inside!

Inside the house, it was very crowded. The Big Controlling Parent set the rules. One of the rules was NEVER GO OUTSIDE. The Bully-Monster was too busy pestering the Big Controlling Parent to open the mysterious box, so he didn’t mind. The Sad Little Girl was convinced there was a Bully-Monster outside EVERY door, so she didn’t mind. As long as the Big Controlling Parent was around, everyone felt safe. But sometimes visitors came to the house and it became noisy again, because the Big Controlling Parent had to go outside.

Eventually, the Big Controlling Parent started taking the Sad Little Girl outside. The Sad Little Girl learned there was no Bully-Monster waiting for her so she grew bigger and bigger. The Big Controlling Parent shrunk so much she could no longer hold the key to the mysterious box. The Bully-Monster took it and found a tiny Happy Little Girl. Everyone panicked, because the Bully-Monster HATES Happy Little Girls, even tiny ones, and the Controlling Parent was no longer Big enough to control the Bully-Monster.

So, the Controlling Parent grew very big, taking all of the Bully-Monster’s bigness. But she wasn’t sure what to do with the Happy Little Girl, so she continued to guard the box.

As the Controlling Parent spent more time with the Happy Little Girl, she started to shrink...

…until finally one day, the mysterious box disappeared. The Controlling Parent could see the Sad Little Girl playing outside far away and wondered if it was time for the Happy Little Girl to have her turn on the grass.

So the Controlling Parent made the Sad Little Girl come back in and pushed the Happy Little Girl, who was growing bigger each day, out into the sunshine. The Sad Little Girl felt a lot better now that the Controlling Parent kept the Bully-Monster small, but she was Lonely being inside all of the time.

Eventually, the Sad Little Girl met the Happy Little Girl. They had a lot of stories to tell each other. “Together,” said the Little Girls, “we will explore outside.” And they left the house each day on their Big Adventure, sometimes alone, but more and more together, until they had shared so much they were inseparable. Sometimes they asked the Controlling Parent for advice – she had lots of experience going outside, after all! Sometimes they followed her directions and sometimes they found a new way. They always came back.

Every time they returned, the Bully-Monster grew agitated because the two Little Girls had grown Very Big and also had a balloon, which was his favourite toy. But the Controlling Parent kept the Bully-Monster away from the Little Girls and NEVER let him grow any bigger.

One day there was a Special Visitor to the house. “This is my house,” she said to the Little Girls, the Controlling Parent, and the Bully-Monster, “and I’m going to take care of you.” The Little Girls liked the Special Visitor because the Special Visitor took care of the house and let the Little Girls come outside whenever they wanted. The Controlling Parent liked the Special Visitor, because the Special Visitor listened to her advice on how to take care of Little Girls and quiet Bully-Monsters.

When the Special Visitor became the Special Caretaker of the small, well-built house, she became to notice other houses being built around her, with their own Special Caretakers. The Little Girls were excited to see all of the bright colours.

The sky couldn’t contain the noise the houses made together, which was okay because this kind of noise wasn’t meant to be contained.

The End


This story relies heavily on the concepts of Transactional Analysis, but is my own creative (loose) interpretation of my parts. I am not nearly this far in therapy, but I do hope I'll get there. Any ideas for getting rid of Bully-Monsters are welcome...

*Thanks to Microsoft Office Clip Art for the images. Montages made in Powerpoint.

In Real Time

This has been an eventful two weeks. A few of the bigger things:

(1) I've had a serious conversation with my husband which increased our emotional and physical intimacy. Score one for transactional analysis. My old Tx has no idea; she would be so proud of me. The model is really helping me to communicate better. I have a long way to go.

(2) I've had a Very Important Meeting which has resulted in a place on a Very Exciting masters course. More on this later.

(3) I've created a nice space for myself in my second bedroom, that makes me feel safe and happy.

(4) I've opened a box and found a letter I wrote to myself at aged 14 that brings back a lot of feelings. It's hard to acknowledge them as mine, but I feel ready to do it. So I'm bringing the letter to therapy to share them with my therapist because this is how trust is made.. by giving people opportunities to see and support you.

Perhaps I might type the letter up for you after our session. I put it away until then because I have a choice about how I want to experience my day. And there is no need to pull all those feelings out right now with just me. No matter how strongly I feel and express them alone, I shut them away in front of other people, even my therapist. Having a physical letter is too strong of a reminder -- I am forcing myself to acknowledge and own the feelings I had and still have.

Perhaps it is uncaring and brutal of me, but it takes a lot of energy to push through guilt and shame. It is important to me to express these difficult emotions and not feel overwhelmed or scared of them.

For the first time, I do feel like my therapist will help me. And part of that is the effort I have been making to care about others, to observe others and attune to their needs. I see how I can help others, and I wonder: could that also be me?

Overcoming Defenses

It is no big secret, I work in healthcare and so have access to loads of policies, organisations, data and people in all areas of public health and medicine. This feeds brilliantly into two of my primary defenses: intellectualisation and hypochondriasis. I've acquired a haphazard yet impressive amount of medical knowledge. When people marvel at how much I know ("You know everything!") I simply say I know only what pertains to me. But this intense (and often obsessive) devotion to knowing everything about my body is only an attempt to control it and to avoid the more challenging aspects of being human: namely, my feelings.

As Winnicott said, "a compulsive preoccupation with intellectual knowledge is an attempt to mother the self exclusively with the mind" .. which is obviously unproductive muchless "emotionally impoverishing." Freud discussed "patients who practice the art of sheering off into intellectual discussion...who speculate a great deal and often very wisely about their condition and in that way avoid doing anything to overcome it." This is of course why I have this quote on my desk at work. This is the very theme running through the heart of my blog:

"To do things differently, we must see things differently.

When we see things we haven't noticed before,
we can ask questions we didn't know how to ask before."

-John Kelsch
Quality Healthcare in America Project

I work on the assumption that my instincts, my reactions, my feelings, my thoughts.. they are not without reason. But this reason does not imply inevitability.

Through meditation, I learned to go to the source of my thoughts and just let them flow, without following them. Through observing myself in this process, I learned how easy it was to let myself flow with the thoughts and feelings that presented themselves. A thought would trigger a feeling which would trigger a thought and so on. But I didn't need to pay attention.

I had a choice whether to pay attention.

I use this skill to walk up-river through my muddy river of thoughts and feelings when trying to parse out the 'order of things.' Sometimes the river is a massive waterfall, a huge vertical drop, which is too painful and too difficult to reverse. I save my energy for easier rivers and I learn my patterns in calmer waters. Then, when my knowledge and skill improves, I can tackle faster rivers, stronger triggers.

A river is a river. A trigger is a trigger. I could give up, fall downstream, get broken and bloodied by the chaos of emotions, feel out of control, grapple desperately for any hold, blame the wind, blame the rocks, blame the water.. but all of that undermines the fact that I have arms to hold with, legs to stand with, a mouth to shout for help with, eyes to see what's in front of me, ears to listen for help, and more. I am still me and I still have the resources to find stability, no matter how confusing or overwhelming the mess. If I blame myself, and who wouldn't, I just let the blame float downstream away from me. I might meet the blame another day, when I'm feeling stronger, but for now I have other needs. And that's okay.

Eventually, I will have the strength to stand under the waterfall without being washed downstream. I might even have the strength to climb up the wet rocks, with all that water pushing me down. It's okay that I'm not there yet. It's okay that I'm afraid. There will always be rocks and quiet beaches and floating logs for me to rest on.

So if I have a choice, what do I pay attention to?

This is precisely why listening to your body (ALL of your parts) is so important. If you habitually ignore yourself, as I learned to do, you will never be able to answer that question with any bit of confidence or success. Hence, dissociation is so dangerous in the long-term: we are ignoring our own needs and therefore condemning our parts to developmental stasis.

So my first task was to listen. My first task is always to pay attention.

Through this practice, I've learned to recognise and prioritise several 'states' that communicate to me my own needs.

If I sense anxiety, my priority is calming down.

If I sense detachment, depersonalisation or derealisation, my priority is grounding myself with social contact or peppermint tea.

If I notice obsessive or interjecting thoughts, I practice thought suppression and respond with self-validating thoughts.

If I am overwhelmed by emotions, I distract myself with games/books.

If I am in a depressed mood, I do something nice for myself or work on small easy projects to bring a sense of achievement.

If I have suicidal thoughts or feelings, I acknowledge the desire to die in the context of the horrible things I've experienced and I ask myself what else I am feeling that is making me so scared.

I am learning to accept myself as I am. That is the top priority. It doesn't mean I don't change my behaviour but it does mean that before I respond to anything inside me, I first pay attention.

I step between my emotional parts (child parts) and my parent parts (Inner Bully and Control Freak) and simply accept they are all mine.

This is a very difficult thing to do, and perhaps unless you are at a certain level of skill in self-awareness or meditation you may not know how it feels to simply accept everything in a very mindful way. I am certainly no more than a novice. But I do believe this is the ticket to overcoming that powerful dissociative defense. If we learn how to sit with our feelings and our thoughts, even our shame and our terror, the ability to dissociate is no longer needed.

Instead of fighting against the dissociation, I'm overcoming it by reclaiming my emotional desmesne. Slowly, but surely, at a pace set by my own strength and capabilities, I push my walls out further and further. I am committed to this painful process. It is painful. It hurts. I am exhausted daily by this complex self-management. I am making decisions for myself that are incredibly scary. I am making decisions despite feeling incredibly scared.

And I suppose that is the point: not letting my terror stop me from exploring what makes me happy. Being EP-Happy, but also being EP-Sad, Control Freak and Inner Bully. Helping each of them to think differently. Helping myself.


Read on the NHS Choices blog.

And how do you feel?

Not everything I experience makes sense to me. My feelings, for one. It's okay when they are straightforward, like Sad or Angry. But most of the time what I feel is too complex and often too fleeting. I don't know whether I'm supposed to listen to it or just let it go. I can't tell the difference between letting it go and dissociating.

My therapist insists there is a huge difference. She says that emotions that aren't dissociated can be recalled a little bit. So, for example, I can think of a sad event from my past and feel a bit sad. But I'm not overwhelmed because I know it's in my past and it was sad but I'm no longer consumed by it.

Most of the time, I can't recall the emotions. Not like that. Sometimes, I am overwhelmed in therapy and my therapist is trying to engage with me, but I'm sitting there, squeezing my eyes and my mouth and my insides and breathing out and gone. The emotions are gone. If this frustrates her, she doesn't show it. Not that I have any capacity to notice at that point!

Most of the time, emotions flash at me through the detachment like solar flares off the sun. They catch my attention, stop my breath, take over me for a moment. I suppose these are flashbacks. They've been plaguing me for years. Sometimes they come with visual memories. I want to fear them. They used to cause a terrible anxious reaction, but I'm more aware now. I proactively let the feelings go before they take me over.

Do I let them go? Or do I dissociate it?

Today was a Depersonalisation day, which is always incredibly frustrating especially when my husband is moody or we argue. When depersonalised, I have no capacity for emotional intimacy, no access to our loving memories, no feeling of attachment. It's like I'm stuck in the part of the brain that is furthest from my emotional parts. Maybe they are asleep. I certainly want to sleep.

Sometimes when I feel like this, I get strange flashbacks. The Depersonalisation goes into hyperdrive, and I feel suddenly like I'm in a strange place, that I'm not supposed to be here, and who is this with me? I call it a flashback because I feel like I'm a child again, panicked and afraid. As if the child has woken up in this strange place that isn't her home.

And as quickly as it happens, I take over again, stuffing her inside.

Maybe I would believe it more if these moments were longer. If I had substantial episodes of amnesia in the present day. The I would have something to explain to my therapist. But as it is, she asks me how I am, and I say fine. Not sick. Not crazy. Not dead. Therefore fine.

Edit: this is a horribly descriptive and uninteresting post, but it's probably an accurate reflection of how depersonalisation affects my communication style.

Now we are getting somewhere.

After all that talk about EP-Happy, you'll never guess what happened on the way to work. I was battling obsessive thoughts about my Big Day yesterday, as expected. But then...

I felt..

Wait for it...




A SENSE OF ACHIEVEMENT.

I had to pull my car over, because it felt so special and new and exciting and scary that I started to cry out of nerves and relief.

I knew immediately, then, that no one ever acknowledged how challenging things were or should have been for me. I was always Gifted, Smart, Capable. Life was Easy, No Big Deal. Nothing was ever Confusing or Unclear or Difficult to Understand. I wasn't allowed to struggle. I was allowed to ask questions, to get things wrong, but I wasn't allowed to try hard. To try hard.. and to fail, yes, but more importantly: to try hard and to be scared.

I wasn't allowed to be scared. "You can do anything!" Positive affirmation becomes invalidation of fear.

I've got a handgrip on Happy now.

The flashbacks leaking into my days are changing. The last one made me smile.

Therapy Tales

Image from Therapy Tales

I write on the presumption that my past and current therapists read my blog and know it is me, and I am eternally grateful they have not and do not bring it up in therapy. Unless pestering me each week to write a journal is a passive way of getting me to admit that this is me. So you should know it is me, now. I journal here and elsewhere. STOP ASKING. ;-)

In reality, they probably have no idea.

Should they?

The Control Freak vs EP-Happy

I had a Very Important Meeting yesterday for something I want Very Much but it is also Very Scary. It has been challenging to express and manage the obsessive thoughts afterwards. If I don't let them dominate my mind, they interject themselves into otherwise benign conversations and daydreams.

"I nervous." I'm incapable of verbs. When it comes to emotions, I regress. "I scared."

I also excited, because I know I did well. It's good to be nervous about it. It is an accurate reflection of my lack of confidence. I felt honest and eager in that meeting, and I'm positive I communicated that. I will be so disappointed if I don't get this opportunity, but at the same time, I know there will be plenty of ways to remain involved and learn more over the next year.

Thought substitution. I've been using this technique on overdrive this month, but especially the last 24 hours.

An article on shrinking the Inner Critic with some helpful notes on recognising 'attacks'.

Here is a list of 14 common inner critic attacks divided into the key categories of perfectionism and endangerment. Each is paired with a healthier (and typically more accurate) thought-substitution response.

PERFECTIONISM ATTACKS

Perfectionism
My perfectionism arose as an attempt to gain safety and support in my dangerous family. Perfection is a self-persecutory myth. I do not have to be perfect to be safe or loved in the present. I am letting go of relationships that require perfection. I have a right to make mistakes. Mistakes do not make me a mistake. Every mistake or mishap is an opportunity to practice loving myself in the places I have never been loved.

All-or-None & Black-and-White Thinking
I reject extreme or overgeneralized descriptions, judgments or criticisms. One negative happenstance does not mean I am stuck in a never-ending pattern of defeat. Statements that describe me as “always” or “never” this or that, are typically grossly inaccurate.

Self-Hate, Self-Disgust & Toxic Shame
I commit to myself. I am on my side. I am a good enough person. I refuse to trash myself. I turn shame back into blame and disgust, and externalize it to anyone who shames my normal feelings and foibles. As long as I am not hurting anyone, I refuse to be shamed for normal emotional responses like anger, sadness, fear and depression. I especially refuse to attack myself for how hard it is to completely eliminate the self-hate habit.

Micromanagement/Worrying/Obsessing/Looping/Over-Futurizing
I will not repetitively examine details over and over. I will not jump to negative conclusions. I will not endlessly second-guess myself. I cannot change the past. I forgive all my past mistakes. I cannot make the future perfectly safe. I will stop hunting for what could go wrong. I will not try to control the uncontrollable. I will not micromanage myself or others. I work in a way that is “good enough”, and I accept the existential fact that my efforts sometimes bring desired results and sometimes they do not. “God grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, the courage to change the things I can, and the wisdom to know the difference” - The Serenity Prayer

Unfair/Devaluing Comparisons
To others or to one’s most perfect moments. I refuse to compare myself unfavorably to others. I will not compare “my insides to their outsides”. I will not judge myself for not being at peak performance all the time. In a society that pressure us into acting happy all the time, I will not get down on myself for feeling bad.

Guilt
Feeling guilty does not mean I am guilty. I refuse to make my decisions and choices from guilt; sometimes I need to feel the guilt and do it anyway. In the inevitable instance when I inadvertently hurt someone, I will apologize, make amends, and let go of my guilt. I will not apologize over and over. I am no longer a victim. I will not accept unfair blame. Guilt is sometimes camouflaged fear. – “I am afraid, but I am not guilty or in danger”.

"Shoulding”
I will substitute the words “want to” for “should” and only follow this imperative if it feels like I want to, unless I am under legal, ethical or moral obligation.

Overproductivity/Workaholism/Busyholism
I am a human being not a human doing. I will not choose to be perpetually productive. I am more productive in the long run, when I balance work with play and relaxation. I will not try to perform at 100% all the time. I subscribe to the normalcy of vacillating along a continuum of efficiency.

Harsh Judgments of Self & Others/Name-Calling
I will not let the bullies and critics of my early life win by joining and agreeing with them. I refuse to attack myself or abuse others. I will not displace the criticism and blame that rightfully belongs to them onto myself or current people in my life. “I care for myself. The more solitary, the more friendless, the more unsustained I am, the more I will respect myself”. - Jane Eyre

ENDANGERMENT ATTACKS

Drasticizing/Catastrophizing/Hypochondrisizing
I feel afraid but I am not in danger. I am not “in trouble” with my parents. I will not blow things out of proportion. I refuse to scare myself with thoughts and pictures of my life deteriorating. No more home-made horror movies and disaster flicks.

Negative Focus
I renounce over-noticing & dwelling on what might be wrong with me or life around me. I will not minimize or discount my attributes. Right now, I notice, visualize and enumerate my accomplishments, talents and qualities, as well as the many gifts Life offers me, e.g., friends, nature, music, film, food, beauty, color, pets, etc.

Time Urgency
I am not in danger. I do not need to rush. I will not hurry unless it is a true emergency. I am learning to enjoy doing my daily activities at a relaxed pace.

Disabling Performance Anxiety
I reduce procrastination by reminding myself that I will not accept unfair criticism or perfectionist expectations from anyone. Even when afraid, I will defend myself from unfair criticism. I won’t let fear make my decisions.

Perseverating About Being Attacked
Unless there are clear signs of danger, I will thought-stop my projection of past bully/critics onto others. The vast majority of my fellow human beings are peaceful people. I have legal authorities to aid in my protection if threatened by the few who aren’t. I invoke thoughts and images of my friends’ love and support.

I am particularly bad at the time urgency, self-hate, negative focus, over-productivity, and obsessing. But at least I know the signs and am working on them.

I think I've done a fair job mediating between the Control Freak and the EP-Happy, which is no small feat. I hide my positive emotions pretty darn well, because of a terrible fear that people will abuse me for them or take them away. So the Inner Bully does it for them, because the Control Freak can manage the Inner Bully. It can't manage the Outer Bullies. And if I'm already sad and scared because of the Inner Bully, what can the Outer Bullies possibly say to make me feel worse? At least I feel in control. Sad, but in control.

Now there aren't any Outer Bullies, and the Control Freak is, well, a bit out of control. But without her, the Inner Bully isn't contained.

I'm trying to love all of my parts. But the hardest of those to love is EP-Happy. She's a stranger to me. I haven't spent time as her in years and years. It is uncomfortable and scary, to sit with Happiness and Hope and Interest and Desire without the Control Freak managing it all and with the Inner Bully waiting for the opportunity to pounce.

EP-Happy is so fragile and young and insecure. She can't communicate like me. She doesn't understand. She wants to trust people. She wants to be close to people, to feel loved. She remembers what that feels like. I remember what that feels like.

But EP-Happy and EP-Sad are still so very far apart. We can't yet sit together. But we will. Sooner than we all think.