And then it occurred to me
**warning: my space bar is reallyfeeling sticky and not cooperating. apologies.
Iwas putteringalong inthis newlife prettywell with a hefty doseof avoidance ofthe whole “relationship” challengesthatI face.Laughingly callingmyself a “trainwreck in relationships” (self-deprecating humor issuch a thin veilfor self-consciousnessorself-loathing). I wasenjoying my “single time” – afirst forme. I hadn’t joined a monestary and enjoyed eye candy as much asthenext girlbut I’djust put the wholethought ofdating onthe back burner.
Untilthis weekend.When Iwent tothe beachtovisit mychilhood bestfriend, her baby and her husband. She informed me that another girlfriend wouldbethere but I hadno idea untilI approachedherhusband atthebeachupon arrivalto give him a bighug that also joining us would be a guy thatIhave known through mutualfriends foreverandwho I hooked up with last December (J wasin the picture butwe hadn’teven kissedyet).So I almost swallowed my tongue whenC. turned aroundnext to my friend’s husband – shirtlessand holding a fishingpole. Gulp. “oh hey, what’s up?” That soundedcasual, right?
Fast forwardthrough aday of group activiteies and anevening of sexual tension and multiple drinksand finally some extendedalone time and conversationsaboutboth ofus having been engaged- and what thehellhappened last December (Imay have un-friended him on Facebook afterour encounter) (andavoided histexts)(andignoredhisphone call)- and where are you sleeping tonight and suddenly the bedroomdoor is closedandsex.sex happened.multipletimes. and itwas reallyquitegood.granted I’mout of practice and there’s always the initial awkwardnessandthe what do youlike andno, what do youlike and the getting usedto someone’s faces and noises.But Iwasbeaming whenIdrove away the next day afterasweetgoodbye kissandre-exchange ofnumbers (funny,I don’tremember deletinghimfrommy phone).
And the beaminglastedapproximately 3/4 of a mile of my 4 hour drive home. The rest was consumed withcrazy brain:
-would he make a good father
-whatifI got pregnant andwe had to get married
-howlong would Ihave to date him beforehe’d propose
-wouldI move to raleigh for thisguy?
-wouldhe move to charlotte?
-whatdoeshe do for christmas?
-whatwould meetinghisfamily be like?
-would my brother likehim?
-whatsortof house wouldwe live in together?
-whowouldgive me away at the wedding
And so on….soembarrassing toactuallytype those things ontothescreenasthey are indeed a reflection of how insanely obsessive and,well,crazy I get whena man enters mylife (even for 24 hours).
Ihad therapy on the phone withB. againtoday (didthatlast Tuesday as wellbecause I’veyetto find a therapisthere that willwork forme) and whilethe partsthatwe worked with are not theprimary players in this “anchoryourselfto a man asfast asyou can-craziness”, afterwordIhada moment ofrevelation. After spending the bulk of thesession working with a very young, very bruised andhurt andskittish childpartwho wants someonetocomfortherbut is terrified of it,I realizedhow fucking terrified I am of love. Loveisn’t something that canbetrusted.I loved my ownparentsandthey hurtthe fuck out of me.I often wonder now if I would bea happier healthier person if I hadn’t had my father in my life because of the boatload of hurt hegave me for years and years.So afterlookingat this partwhodesperately wants love butfeels that love is what hurther I wondered…
What ifallthe obsessive thoughts and the planning far far into the future and pushing things fasterthan they are ready to go…what if it’s a protective mechanism to avoid actually falling inlove. Love = hurt.Lonliness = hurt. Therefore,find a way to not be lonely while also not feeling real (dangerous, terrifying, powerful) love.
Just a thought. But it resonated.
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.
Powers of dissociation
I dissociate. It’s what I do. My view of the world suddenly telescopes out to a vantage point 300 yards away, where all the pain is small and blurry. Where I can be uninvolved, an intellectual and analytical observer. Or sometimes something else attracts my attention and the scene is overlooked.
I’ve likened it to a lightswitch – flipped on and off. My brain is full of lightswitches. The one that controls my food intake. The one that erases my feelings of missing my father. The one that remembers friends I left in Vermont. But after my work in IFS therapy, perhaps it’s parts and not lightswitches. Perhaps there’s more complexity than a polarized on and off. If I looked closer, that is. I have somehow blocked or banished the parts of me that hold memories and feelings about Vermont and the past year and a half of my life. And swept up in those is my blog. Overnight its valence erased to naught. My interest, attention and connection with it wiped off the slate.
Dissociation, while superficially easy apparently requires a team of parts to maintain. The wine-drinking part, the always busy part, the pot-smoking part, the food grazing part. My brain has been bustling with so many parts whose job it is to keep the past at a distance. To distract. To avoid.
I haven’t initiated therapy here. I haven’t requested phone sessions with B. I haven’t journaled or blogged. I haven’t communicated or attended to any of my parts. And now I’m starting to fear that all the progress will be lost if I don’t get back in gear soon.
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!)
Grey Day
Just a grey day here. Lots of intention to do things. Not a lot got done. Took a day off work and feel it was wasted. What did I expect? It’s me. Me who has lost any sense of adventure. Me with the social isolation. Me with the inertia holding her back.
I’m feeling pretty grey after my birthday. I got about a million and one facebook happy birthday wishes, about 6 phone calls and a dinner of leftovers and Grey’s Anatomy DVD alone. It’s that last part that’s really affecting my mood. What a pathetic evening, one that happens at least 5 out of every 7 on any given week. But it hurt on my birthday. A lot. I talked about it in therapy today and how I have a really hard time making close friends. I meet people easily, make a good first impression, am generally likeable but have such a hard time forming closer more meaningful bonds. I totally realize that I have a part to play in that. I avoid opening up and experiencing vulnerability at all costs, which tends to keep friendships superficial and doesn’t welcome intimacy or connection. But also, B. brought up a really valid point that those intense friendships take time – for everyone. After high school, I’ve never lived anywhere long enough for it to happen. Which I think factors into my addiction to intense romantic relationships – it’s an easy way to feel that connection pretty quickly. But this whole friendship thing is going to be really important if I’m going to not fall head first into another relationship that’s not right for me. And it is factoring HUGELY into my decisions about where to relocate. The main city where I’ve investigated jobs and sent my resume is a city where one of my oldest friends lives, where I have a cousin close to my age, where several of my sorority sisters from college live – who I feel closer to than most acquaintances. There’s a bit of a support system there. It’s also within a days’ drive of about 30 other friends and family.
In other news, I had my first chiropractic appointment today. It’s a newer form that isn’t about cracking and popping and forceful manipulation of the spine. It was…exactly the opposite…the guy touched me about as lightly as you would to dial a number on your cell phone….about 10 times. And that was it. He told me a bunch of stuff was wrong with my spine and then told me to come back twice a week. I left with a brief feeling of – “ooohh…did it work? can I feel anything different?” and then…”no. not really. other than the discrete absence of $100 from my checking account.” I do want to pursue some more body work, especially during this time of transition. But I feel like I’d rather put my money towards accupuncture – which I know makes me feel different right after. I highly recommend alternative holistic health treatments – but only one’s that feel effective. I know that’s likely not the same for everyone but I don’t think Network Chiropractic is for me.
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.
My mental health day
Called out sick from work this morning. Got an appointment to see B. for an extra therapy appointment. Tears kept stinging my eyes all morning and I just watched the clock waiting for that 1:30 appointment.
Cried and cried and chest ached and mascara ran and snotted and blotted with a tissue. And B. validated everything – the emotional abuse, the trauma that is reactivated every time he contacts me. She didn’t tell me that I just shouldn’t open the letters and that I should block the emails. She really seemed to understand how unbearably painful this is. This having a father who is incapable of authentically loving me and yet won’t leave me alone. To be stalked and threatened. To be conflicted between wanting to hurt him and wanting to take care of him so that he doesn’t go off the deep end and kill himself. To live in terror of the contents of the next envelope from him.
I explored the unsettling fear I have of his “6th sense” ability to feel – even states away – when I’m vulnerable, most susceptible to his hooks and lures. The terror that if I “go there” in therapy and dredge up this unfathomable pain and grief over my attachment to an inconsistent, unpredictable and emotionally abusive parent that it will elicit a stronger response from him. He knows. If I dream about him, he’ll contact me within a few days. If I talk in therapy about my late (great) Aunt Julie, Dad uses her as ammo in a letter (“I’m sure Julie’s heart would break over this estrangement”). It is as if we are so entwined that even my thoughts and feelings are not my own after a year and a half of not speaking to the man.
Which brought me to the following -
“It makes me want to hurt myself because it’s the only way to really hurt him.”
There it is. There is the eating disorder, the suicidality, the self-loathing – all in a fucked-up little nutshell. The only power I have is to hurt myself.
Everything is moving so fast
It feels like the world sped up. I know I said I was busy but this feels like some sort of cosmic conspiracy. It was four o’clock today and I would have sworn it was only noon.
In therapy tomorrow I’m planning to at least mention the relocation plan to B. I’ve really decided to go for it and am starting to feel a little worried. I’m considering letting work know of my plans in the next few weeks. Despite the fact that I don’t have my “next job” lined up, I feel like committing to taking travelling positions means that there WILL be a next job – even if it’s not exactly in the place I want to be. I’m willing to be flexible in order to make a change happen in my life. And the fact that I am the only full-time therapist in a non-profit whose financials are abysmal with one other part-time therapist going out on maternity leave in July – I feel like I need to give them as much heads up as I can so that I don’t cause the doors to close. Also, I keep getting thrown these new clients or longer-term commitment tasks that I don’t feel it’s fair to take on knowing that I’m about 90% sure I’m leaving in May or June and positive I’ll be gone by September. I think the faster February flies by (wait, did I MISS January?!) the more I realize how soon May and June really are. I have a few once a month clients that I’m realizing I may only see 3 or 4 more times. So there’s a lot to chew over. The only reason I’m not up and out of here now is my therapy. My group. My individual treatment. I don’t even feel like May/June is long enough for it but I’m ready to move on in every other area and I feel like the work ahead could take years.
As an aside, I started feeling yucko about Valentine’s Day. I realized I have NEVER been single for V-day. Like EVER. So rather than wallowing, I sent a bunch of pretty cards with a handwritten message to my 5 closest girlfriends and my mom. Makes me feel warm and fuzzy about V-day now. And I’ll be with a good friend – who happens to be a guy – so it’s almost like I have a date. Except that it is in no way shape or form a date. An almost date is enough for me not to go nosediving off any high bridges.
Anyways, this whole time warp I’m in has made getting to bed at a reasonable hour very difficult so I’m headed that direction now.
