quick-ish update
First off, thanks so much for the support and positive response to my “return to blogging”. You guys are awesome.
It hit me. It finally hit me. Finally???!! Hey, in the grand scheme of repressing emotions 3 weeks is NOTHING! But it bubbled up. In yoga tonight, the sweat and the “push harder” and the faster faster faster pace of vinyasas and the 94 degree room and the grunts of self-punishment from nearby yogis (who were WAY too CLOSe for comfort – seriously 1 inch is not sufficient space between mats, people!). And I got so far behind with all my wacky accommodations to protect my wrist and I wasn’t staying in any posture more than three tenths of a second because the guy was barking out orders and suddenly I took child’s pose and there it was. Sad. Sad. Tears and sad. And snot and sob and bury my face in my mat. And I let it be there. And then I slowed my practice way down. And then I took early shavasana when the lights dimmed and lay there in the dark, hot tears streaming down my cheeks joining with the tributaries of sweat. I miss B. I miss group. I miss my old yoga practice. I miss the things that helped me get better. I feel so far away from that energy. That centeredness.
And so I’m late in writing and late to bed because I spent some time tonight compiling a list of local therapists to contact tomorrow. I need therapy. And I’d like to set up a phone visit with B. because I need to process with her some of the things that are coming up surrounding our ending therapy. Things like the fact that my “system” is starting to feel echoes of dad hurt – of amputating people of value from my life. I don’t want to slam the door on it. On therapy. It was meaningful. It was momentous. I want to continue to honor that and explore it. And the only safe person right now to explore it with is B herself.
So there it is. A puddle of tears on the yoga mat. That’s good stuff, people. That’s the work.
I never thought…
I’d lose touch with my blog. I never thought I would so seamlessly transition from “bad girl for not posting every day” to “when was the last time I posted???”.
I’ve asked myself a few times recently if I’m avoiding anything by not posting. I claim I’m so busy but really I’m parusing westelm.com and drinking wine. So why have I felt the disconnect?
the logistical updates include that I landed a job I wanted (or at least think I want at this point in time – you never know based on a 1 hour interview and tour, do you?) and I start Friday May 1 (god bless health insurance companies – it is for their sake that I start work on a Friday). I move either Sunday or Monday april 26/27th. I have 10 days of work left and 17 days left in Vermont. I have a list of things to do before the move, things to do after the move, who to notify of my address change and what things to sell at my moving sale. My manager parts have done their part.
I think, honestly, that so much is going on that a post feels daunting – where to even begin?
What I’ve been dealing with in therapy today and in group tonight is the internal battle between some young, exiled parts who want very badly to weep and feel all the sadness right now and the protector parts who don’t want to. It’s awfully new and a mark of therapeutic process that I have parts voicing the need to express sadness. They are mightily pissed off that they’re finally speaking that need but the protectors won’t let them jump into the pain headfirst. I started shaking in group tonight – like full-blown tremors – because I was talking about my Aunt Julie and my fucking protectors weren’t letting me feel sad or cry about it. I felt like my head was going to explode.
I’m also feeling a really really strong attachment to my dog right now. I mean, I always do but right now it feels heightened. We talked in therapy about “transitional objects” today and also about the role that animals played in my childhood (including Yoda the turtle). In all the change and closure and transition occurring at home and work right now my daily mantra is “Sam is moving with you”. I’ve imagined where I’ll put his bed. I’ve imagined him sleeping in the bed with me in the hotel on the way to NC. He is my comfort right now. And as the staff has dwindled at work he is my protector when I’m there all alone (the clinic was broken into the night before last and I am NOT happy about having to be there alone so much in the next two weeks). I felt so needed when he sought me out the other night when he had a tummyache (from eating my co-worker’s going-away cake!). He came to the head of the bed, sat upright and put a paw on my shoulder, panting heavily in my face. I’m rambling, but ultimately I feel pretty unanchored and alone right now and Sam is “my buddy” through it all.
Sunday is Easter – my Aunt Julie holiday. don’t know how much I’ve discussed my Aunt Julie on this blog but she was my dad’s little sister. She lived 2 hours from us and was unable to have kids of her own. She was THE nurturing figure in my life – warm and cuddly affectionate. A fourth-grade teacher who “got” the way kids work. So every year I do something for Aunt Julie on Easter and this year I’m stumped. My younger parts are pissed that my protectors are working overtime and protecting me from the one day that I actually allow myself to feel sad and miss her. Been dealing with that and talked about it in group.
I’m feeling pretty checked out at the moment. Some wine in my belly. Ready to walk Sam and head towards the bed.
Technology restriction
Today I’d like to do a little experiment in technology restriction. I have about 3 things that I absolutely HAVE to get done today, the not-doing of which will bring out some serious self-loathing that will keep me up tonight. So, seeing as how my computer has consumed about 83% of my waking hours lately, I’m going to restrict a bit. After this post, I will actually power down my laptop – that’s right – not just put it to sleep with it’s little head down. I don’t have any new DVD’s from Netflix so that’s out of the question. That leaves me with reading, sewing, playing banjo, walking the dog and actually doing what I need to get done today (oh how I loathe laundry). Wish me luck!
In other news I leave Tuesday at the crack of dawn (4:30 am) for my travels to NC for job interviews and househunting. I’m anxious but also really excited. It will be a high energy week of zooming here to there with my googlemaps directions and my snack bars in the rental car. Lots of cell phone calls and chaos. I’ve looked up the schedule at a reputable yoga studio and added it to the Microsoft Word document containing all the pertinent details of my trip (current document is currently 5 pages long). I’ll download some good podcasts to encourage me to take walks between interviews. And I’ll bring a journal. I’m basically trying to prepare for the stress and anxiety that will wind me up TIGHT all week and the pressure of decision-making on my own with no boyfriend-sounding-board to rely on. I’m going to try not to call my family either. I don’t want to be influenced on these decisions – I want them to be my own. I’m bringing my computer so perhaps I’ll blog about it to keep me a bit grounded. That’s the plan anyway…we’ll see how it goes.
I think I finally did some un-burdening in my IFS work the session before last. I’m not even sure I understand what happened but it seemed to help. The parts we were working with were ones that protected me ferociously from feeling intense emotions because of the ongoing threat from an early age (both spoken and implied) of impending bad things that happen as a result of feeling too much. The most obvious one being that my dad would kill himself if anyone let him see how much he hurt others. But there was a much more subtle insinuation that if you allow yourself to get really sad, your life will permanently fall apart. Even now my mom will say things like, “What does your therapist want you to do..lay in bed crying all day and not go to work and lose your job and have to be institutionalized?!” (okay so maybe the insinuations weren’t so subtle afterall…) The implication being that taking one day off (or even 3) to cry when you call of your engagement will lead your life into a rapid downward spiral to homelessness and straightjackets. There it is…the idea that even the smallest bit of sadness, anger, depression, hopelessness will suck you into a vortex of unending yuck. Others in my family are black-and-white thinkers, too, but mom I think was my greatest pedagogical influence in the ways of emotional restriction and detachment. And on the cusp of my big move and all the changes, I realize that she also has sent the message that if something is change for the better, then there’s no reason to feel sad about it. Relationships ending are a perfect example – I’m not sure she even grieved over her 16 year marriage to my father ending. Granted, it was on some levels a huge relief and I can imagine parts of her wanted to do a touchdown dance of freedom. But certainly some parts were really sad. So I haven’t really grieved my losses of the recent months. I’m leaving a place that holds many complicated and wonderful memories. I’m leaving a really awesome group of co-workers. The clinic that I worked for and invested so much of my heart in, is closing. I’m leaving behind a bunch of kids who I spend hours working with each week – some of whom I’ve grown to adore. I’m leaving the chance of bumping into J at the grocery store and I’m introducing the distinct possibility that I’ll never see him again. So much is there and I think it’s time to let it out. Most recently I’m grieving the few friendships I have here that are still young but could have potentially grown into something great. And certainly I’m grieving the loss of the most influential and amazing therapist I’ve had and my wonderful group. This is hard. This part doesn’t feel like it’s for the better. I am scared to move on.
So much is going on for so many of my parts right now. My managers are working diligently around the clock to coordinate the logistics of my move and all the transitions (enter “Things to Do Before I move” word document including such highlights as “oil change” and “sell used snow tires”). I need to take some time for the grief to swell. So power-down, dear computer. Take the day off, I’ve got some other plans.
A different sort of yoga practice
Many of my posts seem to have a yoga slant lately. I guess that just reflects where I am – which isn’t such a bad place to be.
Last night there were only 2 of us at group and it was the yoga-only session but led by B. She offered us a different sort of practice and we took her up on it. We held different “gentle” postures for longer and spoke for different parts that came up so that she could help walk us through unblending with those parts and see what was underneath if those dominant ones could step aside. It was really good and fit perfectly with my desire to deepen my practice. Here are a few of parts that came up:
- comparison to my own high standards part: came up when I assumed a posture I used to be able to do “right” and now can only do about “halfway”. this same part jumps in sometimes related to weight, body image, athleticism. this part is concerned a bit with what other people think but this can be rationalized out of me (i.e. you wear a size 2 jeans – no one in this room would think you are fat; no one else in group can do this posture even as well as you so they aren’t thinking you suck). What my rationalizing part cannot negotiate is my own internalized high standards. This high standards part says things like “I know you’re doing it better than everyone else but that’s not enough – you have to do it PERFECTLY” or “if you did it once (or looked like that once) then it’s possible and imperative that you do it again. if not, you’re a failure”.
-scared parts: these were really a cluster of young exiled parts who were fearful of intense sensations in my body. A protector part would jump in and do a body scan to “fix” everything fixable about the posture to distract from the intense physical sensations (not pain, just intensity). The scared parts were terrified that the sensations were a precursor to some huge emotional release of parts I’ve never even met yet – the deep dark yuck parts.
-intellectual parts: these parts were frustrated that my neck wouldn’t relax and somehow felt that THINKING about it more and WILLING my neck to relax would make it happen (somehow I doubt “RELAX, damn it!!” would make anyone relax). This part was closely related to a frustrated part that doesn’t understand what it means to “breath into a body part” or “breath into the sensation”. Because I am so frequently detached from my body, I can’t even internally find my neck in order to “breath into it” (whatever that means). B. reassured me that “breathing into it” merely means bringing your attention gently to a sensation.
All in all it was a really interesting and gratifying exercise. I love how B. explains that the yoga mat is a microcosm that mirrors our daily lives. These same parts arise in difficult situations – the high standards “do it right” part, the terrified of intense emotions part, the distract from intense emotions part, the intellectual part that thinks I can think my way into control of situations and myself.
I’m not sure that I got all the way separated from all these parts to see what was underneath. But I was separate enough to observe and name them. To ask them why they’re there. And when working with the young terrified parts I felt my Self tell them, “I’m not scared of these feelings. I can handle them. But I’m not going to let you see them until you’re ready. I’ll keep you safe and protected even when I do let you see them.” It didn’t go much further than that – felt a little like a cliffhanger. But I definitely heard that strong voice comforting them, which is huge. My whole system was surprised – “who said that?!” my parts asked in unison.
Attention. Intention.
This week is pretty intense. I have my regular group therapy twice (includes 2 yoga practices in addition to the one yesterday in Boston), individual once, two network chiropractic appointments and craniosacral on Friday. Seems I’m giving my body some much needed positive attention.
I had planned on cancelling my next network chiropractic appt. because I just wasn’t feeling it. The dude who did my initial evaluation didn’t thrill me and I didn’t feel much different. It didn’t feel worth my money. But I felt I had to go to today’s appointment because the weekend prohibited the requested 24 hour cancellation notice. Well, this time it was the dude’s wife doing my actual adjustment and she.was.amazing. Scratch all plans – I’m keeping this up for a bit to see where it could go. I purposely didn’t put any detailed emotional history on my intake, nor any mention of an ED. I didn’t disclose anything to the dude – just that I wanted to open up some emotional flow and gain flexibility in my upper middle back, which always feels stiff. Within 2 minutes of me laying down, the wife puts her hands gently on my middle back and says, “hmmmm. interesting. do you have a history of abuse? we are alone in the office and this is in complete confidence.”
“yeah”
“this area of your back is where those stories are held.” What is she, Miss Cleo’s psychic hotline? It was crazy. And she was so gentle and reassuring and I felt a very very good vibe. So after being fairly warned by her that the work she does on my body is likely going to open up some very raw and painful places emotionally (yes, that is indeed the point, as scared as I am to admit it), I committed to my next appt.
As I get more committed to the idea of relocating back to NC and the timeline gets shorter and shorter, I begin to think of things about Vermont I will miss and things I will celebrate leaving and never look back.
I will miss the abundance of naturopathic medicine, bodyworkers and fabulously tuned in yogis.
I will NEVER miss slipping and falling on the ice (for the 5th time this winter – and I went down HARD tonight!)
Road Trip
I am driving to Boston for the night. I’ll visit my cousin and two former roommates, hopefully take in a museum and a yoga class. I’ll return Sunday night, hopefully with a renewed faith in the fact that I have a life and that I have some people who care about me and enjoy my company. Sam the dog will come with me, which is always a nice antidote to the anxiety of traveling and being out of my comfort zone.
Thursday night group was really good – there were some nice comical moments and I got a good (very brief) cry in. I didn’t intend for it to happen but it did as I described the wound of disappointment that keeps getting re-opened when a member of the group (who was not there – she’s in residential for the next few months) makes plans with me that she bails on at the last minute. I didn’t realize how deeply it stirred up past hurts until the tears and the sobs erupted. Dab dab at the eyes with a tissue, take a few breaths and the flush had faded from my cheeks and the waterworks had dried up. I like this girl and I wanted so badly to connect with her. It felt so fucking good that she seemed interested in the same. And so fucking bad when she couldn’t hold up her end of the bargain. Obviously since she went to residential this week she’s got her own very serious issues that likely prevent her from socializing (whether they be physical, ED, or emotional issues). But B. reminded me that my caretaking part for her shouldn’t shove aside my hurt and disappointed parts. I know that I’m encouraged to bring this up in group when the group member returns because it’s supposedly a really great opportunity for us each to speak for our parts and feel some hurt in a safe and supportive place. Blech. I don’t know about that. I can only imagine what I would hear if someone told me I had disappointed them. B. and C. reassured me that in words in group there was a strong message of “I wanted so badly to connect with her and was so excited at the prospect” that may be positive for her to hear but all I can imagine she’d hear is “you disappointed me” and then….of course….the internalized “you are a bad person” “you are a lame friend” “you will never be better than a disappointment”. I’m projecting, yes. But I don’t want to hurt anyone else, even if doing so expresses my true feelings and protects me. Wow -there’s fodder for about 26 therapy sessions!
Check, please!
The universe was listening today and gave me a sign. Morning individual therapy was spent exploring my parts’ feelings about making decisions in my life. Central to the conversation were my upcoming plans to relocate. I just don’t feel ready to leave therapy or group – they’re working…something is finally WORKING! But a part of me wishes I didn’t feel so dependent on therapy, that I didn’t feel so scared that I’ll fall apart without it, that I could see myself as more resilient than that. The biggest motivation to stay is therapy. The biggest reason to leave is that I’m tired of my job and relocation feels like the only “valid” excuse to leave my current position. But I generated some ideas of other options – take a different local job short-term until I feel like I’m ready to leave therapy and then relocate. I left my session feeling like it’s at least an option but feeling really sensitive to how that would “look” to my employer, co-workers and the parents of my clients and extreme anticipatory guilt about what it would do to the business for the only full-time therapist to leave.
Another part we worked with today was the one that is terrified of making my own decisions because I’m scared of choosing “wrong” or making uncorrectable mistakes (i.e. choose the wrong job, the wrong place to live, etc.). A firefighter part wants to jump in and make me attached to someone else in a relationship – so that the other person factored into the decision – someone else for my blaming parts to scold if I don’t make the best choice. Something to explain away my bad choice. So when and how did this part form that thinks there’s always a right answer and a wrong one? That there is some predetermined path in my life that if I don’t make the right guesses, I’ll stray from and be doomed to be miserable and stupid forever. I’m working towards realizing what my brother always says – “there is nothing you can do that cannot be undone in 5 years”. You can go from broke to having money, you can go from wealthy to broke, single to married, married to divorced, you can move, change careers, sell a house, make new friends – I guess he may have a point. But this black/white thinking part that thinks that decisions are either right or wrong – it’s just trying to protect me and keep me feeling safe and insulated.
I get to work and the first conversation I have is one in which our director informs us that she will not be taking her salary for the forseeable future because we cannot afford payroll. CHECK, PLEASE!! There’s my valid reason. I’ve said for a long time that the writing was on the wall with the financial situation of our clinic – but not making payroll is the END in my book. Me leaving doesn’t put a nail in the coffin – the coffin is already nailed shut, but nobody seems to want to face that fact. So the universe has sent its sign and I listened – I’m going to get in touch with two local places that I know are hiring. It would be the same type of work and setting as what I’d be doing when I travel – so it’s a good training experience. Not sitting around waiting to be laid off seems like a good enough reason for a decision to be made!
Group therapy was amazing tonight although yoga was shitty. My wrists are sore again – my right in particular. I went through 6 months of really bad right wrist pain beginning this same time last year – was in a cast, a brace, a splint, had an MRI with injected dye into my wrist joint – NOTHING uncovered the source of my pain or made it better. So, needless to say, I’m pretty frustrated that it appears to have returned.
I’ll talk more about group at a later date – pretty exhausted and have to get some rest before my big trip tomorrow. Uncertain as to the availability of private internet time – I’ll try to post if I can but if not, I’ll be back Monday night.
PS – If another job doesn’t materialize, I’ll sell all my wordly possessions except my dog and my banjo and we’ll hitchike around following the Avett Brothers…..mmm.
life and other busy-ness
My work life has been absurdly busy the last 4 days I’ve been there. My office is merely a place to toss my coat and Sam’s leash in the morning and a depository for paperwork throughout the day. Paperwork I never get a chance to file, look at or even sit still in close proximity to. It’s good to be busy, though. Certainly makes my not-so-busy evenings feel welcoming and comforting rather than painfully empty. Although, recently even those evenings haven’t been free of the busy-ness. Between cleaning, cooking and eating dinner, walking the dog, getting lost in Barnes and Noble* on my commute home and group therapy 2x a week – bedtime keeps getting later and my evenings feel pretty full.
I ate more than would have wanted tonight but luckily had stocked my pantry with really only healthy things….so my post-dinner snacks were half an acorn squash, an orange, and a yogurt. Hardly can beat myself up about that, right?! Still want to work on the food zone out and downloaded Geneen Roth’s book “Food is Love” tonight to listen to while dog-walking. Mainly I bought it because it was mentioned in a podcast I was listening to tonight (coincidentally about food and nutrition and even more coincidentally heavily weighted toward a “mindful eating” approach rather than counting calories, food logs, etc.).
This Friday I fly back to my homestate to visit a dear friend in Charlotte. Technically speaking, he was my high school sweetheart but it has morphed into my second longest friendship and a really wonderful supportive relationship. So I’m leaving my pup at home with a professional dog-sitting service. I have a lot of leaving-Sam-anxiety and it’s ramping up as evidenced by 4 drafts of an information page of everythingyouneedtoknowaboutSamandthensome because it didn’t seem thorough enough on the first 3 attempts. Should be a really great weekend, though, with coffee dates on the horizon with several other friends who live there. And it’ll be nice to escape the busy-ness and have a long weekend**!
*My local Barnes and Noble officially blows goats. Of the 17 books I have gone there seeking lately, they have had 1 – ONE – in stock. I finally caved and ordered two today and cross my fingers they’ll arrive before my flight on Friday.
**I don’t really consider it a day off, however, when I reschedule all my Monday clients for the remaining 3.5 days of my workweek. I wish I was better at just saying – I’m on vacation and will not be rescheduling. Maybe next time? For now my quest to make everyone else happy all the time continues…
p.s. as I was tagging this post I had a moment of shock and horror when I realized that in my tag cloud suicidality is bigger than The Avett Brothers. Must insert more TAB into my blogging and rectify this situation!
#1 way to boost blog readership:
rant about SHAPE magazine… ha ha…thanks for all the comments and the new readers.
the comments encouraged me to write the letter (okay, technically just an online editorial comment). I didn’t save it so I’ll paraphrase:
Dear editor,
I was supremely disappointed and concerned about the portrayal of eating disorders in your cover story “Jaime Pressly: How She Got This Body” (March, 2009). First it portrayed Jaime’s recovery from Bulimia as an easy conscious lifestyle decision, which is not reflective of the prolonged and often lifelog struggle inherent in such a disorder. Additionally, it seemed to validate the effectiveness of a confrontational approach to getting someone to recover, rather than the supportive and gentle approach necessary from friends and loved ones. Finally, I was appalled that the excerpt you featured resolved with Jaime seeking a professional trainer’s help to lose weight from her healthy 118-pound frame in order to secure her modeling contract despite his initial assessment that she had too low body weight. This is a far cry from “healthy and safe” weight loss that the article implied and hardly supports the healthy body image of your readers. I am disappointed in your publication’s inaccurate and insensitive portrayal of such a grave and delicate issue.
What do you guys think?
In other news, we’re losing another group member from my treatment group and I’m starting to get nervous that the numbers might be too low for the group to continue. The group leaders haven’t indicated such but I’m fearful regardless. Ironic because of late I’ve been seriously considering/planning to relocate back to my home state of NC this summer. But I want group to be here in the meantime and also don’t want the added pressure of feeling like if I leave then group will have to end because there won’t be enough members.
Individual therapy was ferociously emotional this morning and I thought I was going to fall asleep right then and there on the couch afterward. It made me realize that I think my sleepiness all week has been a “firefighter” part trying to jump in and protect me from all the powerful emotions that have been stirred up. I’m feeling better after my session, but holy shitballs it was draining. Walking Sam the dog and then an early bedtime is in order.
stick a fork in me.
I am so very done with today.
Began with individual therapy – first in 3 weeks since B was out of town. It went well, brought some really heavy insights which only hit me in full about 6 hours later. I left really feeling drained, despite the fact that B apologized for “an hour of being analytical and intellectual” rather than doing any direct emotional work with parts. I burst into tears twice – that’s emotional enough for me, lady.
Totally checked out for my meager 5 hours of work. You probably could have thrown things at me and I wouldn’t have noticed.
Group tonight. Yoga was amazing – led by B. But the group session just fell apart for me. During check-in (yep, still hate that word after 3 months of group therapy) there emerged a theme of “how my family members responded when they found out I had an eating disorder” with the two girls before me (one of my personal rules in group is to go as close to last as possible in check-in). When it came my turn, I freaked. “I’m feeling sad and want to pass” I said as my eyes welled up and my voice cracked like a pre-pubescent acolyte. Fuck. I HATE EMOTIONAL VULNERABILITY. I wasn’t even sure why I was feeling so sad at first but then my head got all swirly about my dad and the way he reacted when I told him on the phone about my eating disorder. I can’t even go there in my head because it makes me want to head down the road to seventy-pound-ville. The next hour of group was spent curled up in the tightest ball I could in my chair with my hands picking and fiddling while I experienced rapidly cycling tears and total dissociation to floaty float land where I’m hovering about 3 feet above my body. Finally I pulled out when the conversation shifted topics and I could engage in some intellectual banter.
Which brings me to the first topic on the agenda for my next individual therapy session – why I absolutely positively do not EVER want to talk about my father in group. I can’t do it. I know it’s relevant and that it’s only fair to speak for the parts of me that are really stirred up when others talk about related topics. But I just can’t. It’s like jumping off the high dive. I’m up there and the time to jump is nigh. I just can’t. I balk and I count to three and I pace and I bend my knees and plug my nose and step away from the edge again and again and again. It’s excruciating really.
And I’m just wrecked. I have about 5 hours worth of crying to do, wedged forcefully somewhere in my tight throat. Since those tears aren’t going to come now I’m just calling it a night.
