Post-therapy wrap-up
Therapy (on the phone) was really helpful today. I gained some nice new understanding of:
(1) how badly some of my parts want to reach out to others with authenticity, a touch of vulnerability and needs
(2) the protector part that jumps in the way of the above coming to fruition. the people-pleasing impulsive talking part who betrays all the vulnerability, the emotion, the “true” me in an effort to keep the whole system safe
(3)the reinforcement that the protector part receives each time I welcome into my life the types of people who will replicate the patterns of my youth.
What I’m left with is this: I want to do it differently this time. I want to figure out first how to distinguish those people who are NOT like my family of origin and who are safe to be me around and then how to let those people in a bit. The first part is crucial to remember because I definitely have “good therapy” parts who think that experiencing my emotions and being vulnerable is the end goal of therapy. But what’s the point if I finally get to that place with people who mistreat me again? No, I have to figure out before hand if my parts feel safe. B. says it’s just a process of being aware of what parts are most “in the living room” when I spend time with people. Examining what comes up when I’m with them. Awareness is not something I’ve been cultivating a lot of lately. I’ve been busy and distracted and ungrounded. Kayaking and yoga are top priorities for the week. Maybe listen to a guided meditation. Best of intentions…we’ll see how it works out.
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.
So much to write. So little time.
Just a speedy post before therapy. Last night was monumental. I don’t even really know how to describe it because I am admittedly a little floored and overwhelmed right now.
I totally veg’ed last night – parked in front of a DVD with a steady stream of peanut butter intake. Went to sleep uneventfully but awoke around 3 flopping around uncomfortable. My back just couldn’t find a happy position. I had my third Network Chiropractic appointment yesterday and this need to move and adjust and mild discomfort is to be expected. So I actually laid on the hardwood floor for a moment because I felt that might make it feel better. To no avail. My stomach started to feel funny – no pain, just movement and sensation. So I had some tea and a snack. Nothing. I went back to bed and as I lay there in the dark a letter to my dad started pouring out of my head. I decided I probably wouldn’t be able to sleep until I got the words out so my laptop joined me under the covers and I typed. and typed and typed. Honest. Raw. Words that I’ve needed to say but only know fully understand. Our story. Why I parted ways with my father. How he hurt me. The confusing intoxication I had with him as a child – both drawn to his emotional energy and abandoned by him. And it ended with closure. A final request for him to leave me alone. For him to seek therapy. I spelled out the boundary and stated that if he couldn’t respect it I would go to any length to protect myself.
I finished the letter. Re-read it and a very clear voice in my head said, “When you send this, you need to say goodbye. You won’t open any more letters from him. You will block his emails. And it will be over.” And I wept. And wept. The grief washing over me. “I don’t know if I’m ready for it” a little voice cried. “Okay, you don’t have to send it now. You don’t ever have to. But if you ever feel ready, here it is.”
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.
Breathing into it.
Boston road-trip: successful
Visited my cousin and two friends (plus all three’s significant others) and it felt really great to be social and catch up. I felt.very.single. But that’s okay. I’ve got a lot in my life I’m working on right now and I’m on the brink of moving – FOR ME. Making a major decision without the influence of a male partner. That is huge. Monumental. Put a plaque up somewhere, people.
I didn’t make it to a museum today but I did take in a yoga class before scooting out of Boston. It was a free class taught by students in a teacher training program. Basically a pretty strenuous vinyasa class. Because no one knew me and I wouldn’t ever see these people again, I really tried to set the intention of setting aside my “worried about what other people are thinking”, “perfectionist” and “competitve” parts aside. It wasn’t easy, especially since the teacher:student ration was about 1:3. There were lots of adjustments and assists and cues/tips/suggestions. Every 4 minutes it seemed someone was whispering in my ear to move my feet back or lift through my middle back, lower my chin, raise my chin, relax my neck, and on and on. Ack. But it was a really good exercise each time in asking my self-critical part to relax and step aside. That I didn’t have to make the adjustments just because they were suggested. That these folks’ job for the day was to adjust people. I just breathed through each whispered suggestion and decided what was best for my body today. I felt a little surge of pride when I responded to “you could sit up on a bolster and be more comfortable” with “oh, thanks, but I’d rather use the block”. High fives to myself for getting what I needed from the practice.
I’ve recently felt this pull toward yoga teacher training but I’ve simultaneously realized how much room for growth there is in my own practice. Why should I start wanting to give away to others and help them? Right now, this may be the one thing that is truly mine (okay, maybe other than ED and Sam the dog). I want to indulge in my own practice as much as I want and keep yoga a personal endeavor for awhile. So teacher training takes a back burner. Maybe it always will.
Ironic Juxtaposition
It is Eating Disorders Awareness Week all across America. Tomorrow is my birthday.
I attended a presentation given by B. tonight at the local University intended to raise awareness of ED and to promote awareness and understanding of the integrated talk and somatic therapy method based on IFS. I spoke with her a bit before the talk about my job/moving thoughts. She encouraged me to work with my protector parts so that I could get to a Self-led decision – “things will just flow and work out the way they need to if you can get those protectors to relax”. I believe her…it’s just getting those protector parts to relax. Many of them are cart-before-the-horse planners who want to find my dream apartment before I even have a job, know when I’m moving or where I’ll be commuting to. Ridiculous, I tell you – not to mention a huge waste of my time checking craigslist relentlessly. check. check. check.
After some thought, some of my youngest most exiled and delicate parts have quietly begun to ask that they be taken care of in this process. Specifically they have requested that the emphasis in finding a new therapist be on someone who is an advanced IFS practitioner rather than an ED specialist. My parts are fucking terrified that focusing on an ED therapist might lead me down the road to a CBT or DBT based treatment and that does not feel safe for them. Been there. Done that. Those parts don’t want to be overlooked again – don’t want the focus of treatment to be on the firefighter behaviors. Don’t want to over-emphasize the managers. They want to work on the old old old dark and scary shit – as yucky as it may be. They are so grateful that their story is being told and their feelings experienced and don’t want to be exiled again.
In anticipation of all this change, I’m trying to find a way to incorporate yoga into every day. A daily practice. I was thinking that setting aside time to do a 5 minute meditation or pranayama and 3 or 4 postures each day might be an achievable and manageable start. No beating myself up if it doesn’t happen. Just a gentle encouragement to try again. I just need something grounding every day to return to. Something to blunt the edge of anxiety.
reason #421 why being alone sucks
I am sick. Up and down all night to get tea, another throat lozenge, another blanket, my iPod, and on and on. All the while a hedgehog as lodged itself somehow in my throat. Prickly little bastard makes my voice faint and my eyes teary. Slight fever and absolutely no desire to leave the house. But the lack of television makes things around here, well, Bo-RING! It’s times like these that make me miss J. He’d swing into full nurse mode – getting up with me in the night, running to the store to get Nyquil, renting movies. At least for one day, he’d be attentive. Then he’d go back to sleeping and moping. His empathy, it seemed, far outlasted his energy.
Operation find a new job is in full force. And since the great state of Vermont has about 3 positions available (one of which is at my current job – which is going out of business any minute, one of which is at the SNF that made me cry on Friday, and one of which is at the hospital over an hour away which seems quite impractical), I swung into gear looking for a position in NC. My manager parts are efficient little fuckers – I emailed a cover letter and resume to 9 – yes NINE – different places yesterday. Mainly in a similar job to what I do now. It’s not what I want to do for the next ten years but it sure as hell beats the old folks’ home! I already heard from one place that they’ll be needing a new OT for April 1 – that’s a distinct possibility time-wise.
Moving and starting a new job, despite the anxiety of it all, feels pretty exciting. I just really, really, really don’t want to leave my therapist. My group. All the things that are making me feel so much better. The things that I attribute to keeping me safe and healthy right now. Maybe I should give myself a bit more credit for it, but I don’t. Ugh. I do not want to tell B. on Thursday about the latest developments in this whole work saga. Some of my parts feel like it’s a failure on my part – like I’m quitting something by relocating. Other parts feel like leaving B. will feel devastating and grief-filled. Those ones feel young. They had really started to trust me and emerge a bit in the safety of therapy. And now I’m going to bury them once again? Am I ready to let them emerge on my own? Would therapy 2x/week until I leave help?
questions. sore throat and a lot of questions. chills. bedtime.
Lessons learned this week:
1 – If you “call out sick” from work because you’re an emotional wreck – it’s not truly a lie because physiological sickness is likely soon to follow. Burning sinuses, flushed cheeks, prickly eyes and subtle body aches through my neck and shoulders tell me that this body is fighting off some germs after being beat up mentally at the start of the week.
2- My “Self” (with a big ’s’) doesn’t just have to be an innocent bystander. It can calmly assert itself and ask other parts to tone things down a bit (“I know you’re feeling really hopeless right now but I need you to step back for a moment so that I can think clearly about my next step.”). It can negotiate with parts (“I know that you really feel like dissociating because you’re exhausted from this week, but if you can just step aside so that I can be present for group tonight, I will allow you to totally ‘check out’ all afternoon tomorrow.” – impeccable timing for the Netflix delivery of season 3 finale disk of Grey’s Anatomy for just this purpose). It can ultimately play the role of a compassionate parent – listening to each parts needs but also asserting some of its own for the benefit of the whole system.
3 – I miss lifting weights. I felt so strong and powerful Wednesday night after lifting a bit and then slept like a baby for 8+ hours. This is one gym activity that has never really had to do with my appearance as much as just feeling active and strong. Yes, please.
4 – I have no idea what to do about my job. Maybe that’s okay. The options around here are quite shockingly limited and I interviewed today at a skilled-nursing facility. Blech. I’ve been arguing with myself all day about it. Parts of me wanted to cry and run away just upon entering the building – warm and smelly, lines of wheelchairbound slumping elderly with food on their shirts, mumbling to themselves. I just don’t do well with old people like that – never have. Sure I like the 90 year old in the back pew at church but she’s, well, still functioning pretty well and coherent. She doesn’t make me sad and squirmy and in search for a sink to wash my hands. And most importantly, her bodily fluids are contained. I have parts that want to prove to myself that I can do this job as a sign of achievement and strength. But deep down I know I’d be miserable. I’ve done a 12 week clinical rotation in a comperable setting and hated every day of it. I never relaxed or got over the awkwardness of naked grown-ups who can’t remember how to put a shirt on. At least with kids it feels developmentally close-to-appropriate to poop in your pants or be naked or snot or drool. Maybe I am just a kid person afterall. I inquired about one other position at a hospital but it’s an hour away and probably wouldn’t allow me to get to my therapy appointments – the whole reason I’m not relocating out of VT right now. So maybe I’ll just stick it out where I am. It works for my therapy schedule. Who knows, maybe our financially dysmal little non-profit can hold on for 6 months until I’m ready to move??! Maybe that’s a wishful thinking part? hmmm.
5 – I have finally accepted my mom for who she is and what she can offer me in terms of support. On Tuesday night, I was devastated and panicky, overcome by the yuck bubbling up, overtaking all sense of self-control. I sobbed and heaved and thought my chest would implode. I hyperventilated and paced and clung to my Aunt Julie blanket and hoped I wouldn’t die from the sadness. And the whole time I had the phone nearby, ready to call mom to rescue me. But I waited – for longer than I ever have before. I tested the waters a bit – afterall, all this time, energy and money on therapy is supposed to be allowing those exiled parts and their feelings to unburden and be heard. So I let it go until it was unbearable and then called, knowing full well that my mom’s tone would be directive and cold. That she would attempt to talk sense into me and would quickly shift me into the intellectual and analytical mindest that protects me from the yuck. I didn’t call expecting warm and fuzzy or even empathy. Just a rescue.
6 – There are many, many websites, blogs and support groups for the adult children of parents with Narcissistic Personality Disorder. I thought my dad was so crazy and unique and hard to describe or understand. Turns out – he’s in a very special club of crazies who are astonishingly similar.
7 – Mentally rehearsing a plan of what to do if I come home to find my dad on my back porch makes me feel a little bit better.
8 – Sometimes my granddad knows just what to say, “[your mom] told us that your engagement is off. From here I can’t tell if that’s good news or bad news, but whatever its much, much better to break up before getting married. Finding the right mate is a very dicey deal and surviving a few “loves” is good experience!”
9 – Body dysmorphia seems to peak just before my period. My brain is having a field day checking body parts in the mirror, running my hands over them, trying on various pants to see how snug they are, pulling, pinching, squishing, etc. Hormonally exacerbated craziness.
