October, 2013 ... Two weeks after Will's surgery:
I sit down to begin a self empowering session of EMDR
Cary hands me the buzzers, and I hold one in each hand
The buzzers within my fists are connected to a control unit by wires
Cary is holding the control unit, and
The connecting wires are dangling between us while
We regulate the speed of the buzzers with my comfort zone
Too fast?
Too slow?
Too intense?
Finally Goldilocks says: Just right
While the buzzers alternate buzzing, first in my right hand
Then in my left and back and forth
I relate my breakthrough to Cary, who listens attentively until
I pause, and she says:
Annie—that was powerful—
The fact that you got the source of your fear to emerge, at home
Without EMDR is remarkable.
At that I answer: Cary, I did EMDR on my own, every day, several times a day. I'd lay in bed, focus my sight on the ceiling, and while asking myself the same questions that you always ask me, I'd move my eyes across the ceiling, from left to right and back again, repeatedly. I chose to do that whenever my anxiety level felt so intolerable that I'd felt the need to scream.
Why didn't you scream?
That would have scared Will and David.
Annie, do you know which part of you needed to scream?
That question confuses me, so silence hangs heavy in the air ...
Annie, do you know which part of you cried and cried?
Without hesitation, I reply: The little girl inside me, who'd not developed a voice to speak up to this authority figure, who'd hurt her, repeatedly. It was this little girl, who'd wept tears, repressed for all those years, when she'd felt helpless, alone and betrayed by an adult whom she'd trusted to protect her innocence.
When you think of being that little girl, how do you feel about yourself on a scale of one to ten?
I feel very bad! So guilty of wrong doing! On a scale of one to ten—Eleven!
How long did the little girl feel so bad and guilty, deep inside?
She still does.
Why?
Buzz - Buzz - Buzz - Buzz …I let him do … I didn't stop him like I'd stopped all the boys, later, when I was dating …
My words dry up
You felt complicit?
Well, I guess so. Yes.
Buzz - Buzz - Buzz - Buzz … And helpless and hopeless. And worthless.
Why hopeless?
Buzz - Buzz - Buzz - Buzz …
I was so alone, and I didn't know how to make him stop, and I couldn't tell anyone.
Why worthless?
I don't know—maybe, damaged goods …
So if you couldn't stop him, what did you do?
Buzz - Buzz - Buzz - Buzz …
I disappeared. I felt nothing. Saw nothing. Heard nothing. Remembered nothing. Was nothing—I felt like a whore must feel while servicing a John. I mean what little girl ever thinks she'll grow up to service the sexual needs of men? — Next thing I know, I hear myself say: After dating Will for six months, we break up, and when I go to the beach with my friends, several boys, who'd taken my number, begin to call. After a couple of weeks, I find Grandma rushing to answer the phone and having listened to her say Annie's not home and then hang up, I ask indignantly:
Grandma—what are you doing?Too many boys at calling ... That call means one thing!
What's that?
You know!
Grandma, they're calling because they like my personality …
Though Grandma looks at me like I'm crazy, my reasoning makes perfect sense to me—I mean, why else would a girl like me win male attention …
I tell Mom what Grandma has been doing. Mom speaks to Grandma.
Grandma isn't happy, but she stops hanging up.
And just as always, no one tells Dad—because peace at any cost means not developing a voice …
Annie, do you know why you remembered nothing about the abuse till we began to do EMDR?
I didn't have the strength to relive the terror—till now. EMDR helps me to heal portions of self esteem, traumatized during childhood …
Cary nods and says: Annie, your mental block did what a mental block is designed to do. A mental block hides dreadful memories within your subconscious until you muster the emotional maturity to look reality in the face. Once you acknowledge the person you are at your core, that's when insight is gained in terms of separating that which you are truly guilty of from that which you feel guilty of for this reason: You've been taught to adhere to a belief system that defines right and wrong until such time as society's narrow mind sets expand. BTW, those who do not harbor dreaded mental blocks still feel guilty, undeservedly, because, just like you, they've been taught that certain feelings, thoughts, reactions and decisions are bad when in truth, they're actually healthy, because they're natural.
Having pondered upon Cary's train of thought for a moment, here is my response: I think you're suggesting that every generation works to shed guilt shoveled into our minds by a belief system that's passed down to us by our elders—Though my sons' generation forms close friendships with both genders, that was not true of my generation. Whereas my generation's narrow comfort zone had frowned on intermarriage of any kind, today's expanded comfort zone is working to embrace same sex marriage. Today, it's common place to live together and even have children before marriage. When it comes to forward thinking, I connect more readily with today's generation than my own.
As my train of thought has wandered off track, Cary interjects with: Annie can you offer up another reason as to why you didn't tell anyone right after the bullying on the van or the sexual bullying began?
While working to switch tracks, I look confused, so Cary asks: Is there some reason why Mother Nature cast her spell of denial over you?
Buzz - Buzz - Buzz - Buzz …
Well, it had been my habit to keep my problems to myself.
Exactly. So, if I ask you to review why that was true, what might you say, today? (During each session of EMDR, we build upon details, which had emerged in sessions, past.)
After my baby sister died, I never wanted to see my mother unhappy. First of all her depression scared me (scarred me?), so I didn't want to give her reason to frown in my direction. Secondly, I loved her so much, and having witnessed the depth of her vulnerability, it seemed 'right' to shield her from worry by not sharing my problems with her. I remember Mom telling others: Annie always solves her problems. As an adult, I remember saying: I don't know why this is true, but I can't say no to you. And I sure couldn't tell my grandma.
Why not?
She'd look at me like garbage.
Really? Instead of protecting you?
Well, that's how I must have felt at the time—I mean, she'd blamed my mom for the baby's death—and, later, she didn't trust me with boys, so who knows what fabrication may have shaped up inside her mind …
What about confiding in your father?
I couldn't.
Why not?
While the buzzers, take turns, buzzing away in each of my hands, this memory emerges as clear as a bell:
I remember my Dad fighting with my Grandma Ella about me…
I was about five or six, getting ready for bed in the living room, so as not to miss my favorite show, I Love Lucy. I'd run into the bedroom, shared with Grandma, to get my PJ's, and while sitting on the floor in the middle of the living room rug, I began to take off my clothes in front of the TV. That got Grandma so upset, she jumped off the couch and sternly admonished me with: Shame shame! At that, my dad leaped out of his arm chair and exclaimed: Leave her alone! She's just a little girl, and you'll not shame her like you did Jennie. Annie's going to develop a healthy attitude toward her body, and after she's married, she'll enjoy sex! With that, Grandma threw Daddy the look of death and muttering in Yiddish, she huffed, self-righteously, and sped out of the room.
I remember that swift, impassioned fight as if it had taken place, last night. That fight had imprinted so deeply into my mind, I couldn't open up to my dad when sexual interaction, which had been forbidden, caused guilt to stir within me, several years later. The fact that my dad had clearly directed me toward enjoying a healthy sex life after marriage filled me with this fear: My father's passionate nature will kill this guy—and if my daddy's hot temper ends up in prison, that will be my fault. Ever since my mom and grandma had busied themselves ministering to the safe keeping of my second baby sister, basking in the sunshine of daddy's smile had meant everything to me—I loved being the apple of his eye …
Silence grows heavy until I continue with:
Ever since my baby sister's death, I'd felt responsible for keeping everyone in my family safe and happy. (Everyone in my family but me—suggesting that by focusing on fulling their needs, I'd been blind to dismissing my own.)
Since Janet's tragic death took place when I was three, my development into the peace keeper, who'd respected the needs of others while unwittingly ignoring my own, became habitual, early on. As habits are hard to break, my mind stirs up feelings of guilt as soon as I place my deepest needs into the stew pot along with the needs of my loved ones. Having gained insight into my adoption of this protective role, I understand my need to muster tons of courage before expressing my needs—unless I'm opening up to a person with whom I have sound reason to feel extraordinarily safe. Generally, when my need to rock a boat arises, I go off by myself and think things through thoroughly in hopes of gaining clarity into the bigger the picture before expressing myself aloud. (Perhaps that's why Cary declared that if two opinions are circulating in the air, she'd not bet against mine.)
I always see myself as captain of the ship, suggesting that the welfare of everyone I love comes under my watch, 24/7. If I so much as think of my needs, I feel guilty of being selfish, suggesting that I'm damned if I respect my needs and damned if I don't. I'm a salmon, swimming through rapids, upstream.
Annie, That's quite a heavy burden you've chosen to carry forward on your own since the tender age of three. You'd do well to express how you feel about this without fear or guilt …
I know that. I have been. Selectively. If the words can't float out naturally, I figure the timing's not ripe … most people listen so defensively …
Selectivity is important.
Yes. I've learned that the hard way. It's so frustrating to know that while my mind is working, patiently, in hopes of connecting, meaningfully, people, listening with a defensive attitude, tend to misunderstand my intention and react as though having been attacked. People who lead with negative attitudes expect to receive negativity back.
I've also gained insight into the fact that discretion, concerning my privacy, is as important to the good health of my spirit as openness proves to be. I also know that 'knowing' is one thing, whereas 'feeling' at ease with emotional reactions, thoughts and decisions, which, though natural, had once made me feel guilty, takes work in terms of personal growth.
Annie, you can't satisfy all the people all the time ...
Well, I came mighty close to doing exactly that for most of my life …
At what cost to your spirit?
Well, if I made others happy, my spirit thrived …
That's all well and good as long as you don't deny your deepest needs indefinitely. Annie, I hope that with time, you'll embrace inner conflict, because conflict proves necessary to personal growth. You've foisted undeserved guilt onto yourself for much too long. No matter how far you stretch toward others, you get mad at yourself for not stretching far enough. People sense that as a vulnerability, suggesting this: If you give yourself away for free, others will expect much more from you than they'll offer back. When you're selfless, overlong, you open the door to others growing self-ish. If this is your pattern then it's no wonder that your spirit wears out. You can only pour milk from a pitcher for so long before the good health of your spirit find's itself in need of replenishment … healthy relationships depend upon division of labor, suggesting, reciprocity.
Hmmm—I think—What about tis better to give than receive? Then, my mind, acting like a bumper car, bumps into 'balance in all things'. And while I ponder over that dicotomy of thought, Cary asks:
Annie, how do you feel about yourself, right now?
Buzz - Buzz - Buzz - Buzz ...
I feel like a very good person. Actually, I see that I've been too good to be true to myself at my core! In order to be true to myself, I need to stop feeling guilty of wrong doing whenever I choose to meet my needs in such a deeply considerate fashion as to ensure that my train of thought does not dismiss the needs of those I love. There's so much to learn about the intricacies of the human brain. These issues are so deep that, right now, at this very minute, I don't feel guilty of wrong doing, at all. I feel clear-headed and strong … and confused and vulnerable, all at once.
How so?
Well, I'm always on my way to a better place—and it's my habit to entice my loved ones to take a taste of my solution-seeking plans before they push that plate away. As I've never taken anyone to a bad place, that fact makes me feel strong. The fact that I'm not sure of where my path will lead to next gives rise to vulnerability, because no aspect of life comes with a guarentee …
Next thing I know, my train of thought switches tracks:
Though I remember very little about what he did with me, I sure wouldn't let him get me alone if he was alive, today. I'd thought I was done giving myself undeserved guilt trips whenever my needs conflict with the needs of those I love; however, clarity suggests that I still capitulate much too readily, or if I do stand my ground and choose to meet my needs in a reasonable fashion, afterward, I give myself a hard time … Wow! The learnings of youth are hard to readjust!
At this Cary smiles and asks:
How would you like to feel about yourself?
Buzz - Buzz …
I'd like to feel free of being prey!
Gosh! I've felt like prey all my life!
I'd like to feel free to put down this baton of respecting the needs of others above my own for an hour or two without worry of being locked in the stocks, left out in the cold to die, all alone! I want to stop feeling selfish when my needs conflict with loved ones. I want to feel free to treat my needs with the respect they deserve without undeserved guilt creating inner conflict inside my mind. I want clarity to blow confusion to kingdom come—that's my bucket list.
Once again, Cary keeps me on track:
When did your feeling of being selfish start?
I guess when Janet died and such a swift, dark wind of grief crashed into our lives that I couldn't find sunshine on anyone's face. At first, Grandma declared the baby's death her fault; then her mind flipped out, and she blamed my mom, and life got scary-crazy, because as the caboose on their train of thought—I'd hung my head and blamed myself—because what three year old wants an adorable baby sister stealing all the limelight, which had been mine! At three years old, all I could fathom was that life clouded up after Janet disappeared. All I wanted was to find a closet in which to hide from all the defensive angst that blew hot wind, back and forth, between adults, who had no clue that with every breath I drew, their torment was inhaled into my alert, little mind. Then at the end of each confounding day, Daddy's key would turn in the lock, and as soon as he'd walk through the door, all that angst would magically evaporate, suggesting that he never knew what took place between Mom and Grandma. Whenever Daddy's presence was felt, life seemed kind of normal, again—I mean, everyone was very sad, but no one acted crazy. Upon reflection, it's no wonder why I thought Daddy could shield me from storm clouds, which had gathered, like crazy, in the morning and then blew away as soon as he'd walk in and swoop me up into his strong, muscular arms—and now it makes perfect sense to think that I'd grow up to emulate my father's full bodied spirit—because if I shined as bright as a sunbeam, Daddy was the sun …
Annie, with so much blaming taking place in your home—did you blame yourself during the abuse?
I don't know. I mean, well, what if my participation in forbidden acts had felt … pleasant? If that had been true, then feeling pleasured by that which is deemed bad must have made me feel as guilty as hell!
Annie, on a scale of one to ten, do you blame yourself for Janet's death, right now?
No. Not at all.
Annie, on a scale of one to ten, do you blame yourself for having been abused by an adult whom you'd trusted and loved?
No. Not at all.
Annie, on a scale of one to ten, how do you feel about yourself, right now?
I feel strong.
I feel like a very good, smart, capable, caring, compassionate, self disciplined, deep-thinking, solution seeking person. I'd not want to switch places with anyone else. I'm proud of the person I work, daily, to become. When hoping to learn, no one listens more eagerly, openly or humbly than me. When working at realizing a goal, no one works more determinedly than me. When I play, no one proves more spontaneous and enthusiastic and mischievous at creating fun than me. When anyone needs help, I show up. When someone demonstrates vulnerability, I point out their strengths. Ever since I became a role model for my sons, it's been utterly natural for me to adopt Gandhi's mantra by working to become the change I hope for the world. I nourish my spirit by feeding my mind positive focus, laced with hope. What I can't figure out is why I still feel so confused about respecting my needs …
Cary smiles. Annie, just as with inner conflict, your sense of confusion is a good thing.
How so?
Confusion suggests that your old mind set is in the act of expanding. Inner conflict and confusion precede personal growth—and you are always in the act of growing. Annie, do you feel pretty?
Without hesitation, I frown with discomfort and reply: That's a problem for me—I feel scared when anyone comments on my looks—I just can't go there—I feel scared, right now …
Cary nods and says something I don't catch about denial and comfort zones before she changes the subject: We've covered a lot of ground, today. Your conscious mind has so many insights to process between today and our next session. Is this a good place to stop? Do you have any scary feelings that need to be contained before you leave?
As this is the way most of our EMDR sessions end, a resurgence of self confidence rides out on a smile while I hear myself say:
Nothing is scaring me that I can't handle. This is a good place to end for today. The woman I've grown to be will take good care of the little girl, who fears being left alone. As long as my conscious adult is controlling my brain, this sweet, little girl will not have to fend for herself. No matter how fearfully dark our life becomes, she can depend upon my adult strengths to keep her safe.
At this, Cary, smiling widely, turns off the buzzers, and after I open my clenched fists and place the buzzers in my lap, I look at my palms and say: Not bad.
You see, sometimes, after a session of EMDR, deep grooves are seen where my nails have dug into tender layers of skin …
Now, I offer up my credit card (Healing from subconscious pain does not come cheap, so I don't see Cary, every week.), and while hugging each other, Cary suggests resting my active mind by placing my faith in my brain's ability to percolate on its own. I smile and nod with understanding.
Once I'm outside, I walk toward my car, breathing freely, thus deeply, for the first time in many weeks. Now that my mind and body feel fully oxygenated, my spirit feels re-energized, so after switching on the engine, I turn up the volume on the music that my thumb drive pumps throughout my car and into my heart, because in addition to knowing myself to be a really good person, I feel like a really good person. I feel like a person who does not have reason to feel torn in half by guilt. I know myself to consciously take good care of everyone I love. And from now on, I'll focus on taking good care to respect my needs—within reason—instead of sending myself on guilt trips that I don't deserve.
As to the buzzers … well, just in case you'd rather not scroll back umpteen posts to review the part these buzzers play during EMDR therapy, please, tune in tomorrow :)
February 18, 2014
While developing from a child into a young woman, I'd had good reason to fear the look of lust in the eyes of teen-aged boys. When men had looked at me, admiringly, I'd fearfully clammed up, and watched my self confident traits retreat mysteriously into a deep, dark, scary cavelike place. I'd no clue that men were not demeaning me, because I'd so readily demeaned myself. And now it's clear that the reason I'd felt so readily demeaned was because rather than feeling pretty, an admiring male made me feel like—prey …
Remember that rabbit screaming in the night while a pack of cyotes are feasting upon living flesh? Being a desert dweller suggests that the food chain and survival of the fittest exist right outside my bedroom window in the still of night—though not every night. Seriously, every once in a while is bad enough. Thank goodness, I'm not that scared rabbit, any more. Today, I'm a strong minded woman with a deep thinking brain that's attached to a clear minded voice—mess with me—hear me roar—with grace!
As I've been writing for five hours, straight, your friend Annie is about to respect her need to take a break …
Hmmm—these past several posts were not easy to write, but write them I did, so let's hope I've recouped enough inner strength to relate high school stories, some time soon …