Voicelessness and Emotional Survival Message Board
Voicelessness and Emotional Survival => Voicelessness and Emotional Survival Message Board => Topic started by: sKePTiKal on October 06, 2010, 10:30:13 AM
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When I googled self-abuse, about all the links that came up dealt with the phenomena of "cutting" as a way to release emotional intensity or frustration. So maybe this isn't the right word for this... but my experience and the work I've been doing since therapy started in '05 (and ended in '08 or 09; hard to remember since I've continued working on my own)... my experience has been that my brain and way of being "me" is chock-full of these patterns and reflexes of abusing myself - the same way I experienced emotional abuse as a child. It could be called a self-destructive script; fear of intimacy; social phobia (even one on one); or simply bad habits that I haven't been able change or to maintain any changes in those habits. And to me: not being able to consistently choose to be nice to myself, enjoy myself and relationships with others without periods of total withdrawal or shutting down, and being able to sustain the emotional commitment of myself to what I know is rational, healthy living habits.... is self-abuse.
I have not yet answered some questions posed in therapy. Why can't I make a committment to my self? Why can't I trust my self? And my reason for continuing therapy, was to find out why nothing worked when I tried to quit smoking; why did that set up such huge anxiety and flat out terror; why was smoking "the devil I knew" and lesser of two evils? How f'ng hugely evil was the OTHER evil anyway???? (and what was it???) OH yeah: and "what was wrong with me" since other people didn't seem to have any problem at all being nice to themselves and changing their habits...
So, I've processed out all the horrors of "OMG - my mom actually did X, Y, Z...." and the anger about it, the losses & grief, the child who "blames" the incapable parent. I've processed through the trauma of the vengence rape I experienced because of my dad - and the dissociation that came with that experience. I've finally understood, that the violence and shattering of that early abnormal/normal life experience is the PAST... and the details of that story only remain relevant when they help me answer the questions I posed, above. That leaves me sitting here typing. ME and what am I gonna about me now??? How can I finally "fix" what was broken so long ago (40 years ago)?
The starting point, it seems to me, is with breaking down these patterns, reflexes and ways of "being" (or not) and that means I have to be ruthlessly honest with myself - and rely on you all to point out when I start "dancing away or around" something. When I throw up a shield of avoidance or resistance or denial... all the defensive moves I learned so well from and dealing with my mom. I have internalized - incorporated into myself - somehow let my mom's way of interacting with me get inside my head.... along with all her warped justifications and explanations.... and so, that experience of consistent "failure" every time I try to quit smoking or make some other lifestyle change... keeps returning to the image I have of some faceless impish demon dancing around saying "I told you so" or some other self-defeating or self-fulfilling prophecy.
But I know that imp isn't my mom; that's me too. And it came to life as a reaction to my mom's treatment of me in that story from 40 yrs ago... so my theory is, that if it is "me"... then I should be able to control it, train it, persuade it to be on my side and cooperate... or at least get out of my way, if not out & out GO away. It's as if I'm trying to find some agreement with my mom; some connection... to "prove" her right about me, you know? When I know she's not right - I have a list of evidence to the contrary.
40 years ago, the only choice open to me; presented to me to survive and "go on with my life" was to take the wounded, grieving, and agonized part of me and lock it away. Hide it, in other words. What no could predict and I wasn't aware of at the time, is that a whole lot of the good emotional parts of me - that are the flipside of so much negative - went right along into hiding with it. In therapy, I was able to find the dark corner this part of me had been hidden in... and pull all that stuff out into the light and claim it all for my self. It no longer threatened to blot out the sun in some kind of eternal post-nuclear winter. So I consoled my inner me - who I called Twiggy to separate the child me from the adult me and allow me to have a relationship with my self. I gave her treats and special occasions - allowed her to come out into the real sun and play and feel safe again. I spent hours and days and months listening to her - letting her "get it all out" no matter what "it" was and sticking right next to her, validating her and her experience and teaching her what I've learned, since the days I was her. She was emotionally, a feral child but intellectually adept and precocious... she learned pretty quickly. And in some strange undescribable way, I slowly began to feel that we were becoming the same person... I was integrating her memory; her thoughts and feelings; into "me". And she was maturing... growing up... becoming more emotionally mature. (Note that this was like re-experiencing the gawkiness of adolescence all over again and there were lots of very embarassing & hilarious & frustrating consequences of this merging integration...also frightening moments... but we "stuck" together through the process.
What is left, however.... is this "hangover" set of self-abuse patterns.
Why can't I make a committment to my self?
There is an inner power struggle going on... between what I feel like doing (the angry inner hedonistic needy-feral brat) and what I know is the adult thing or healthy thing to do. I can almost hear the whiny "but MOM let me do it!...." now. Or the harder to refute: "I'm not hurting anyone but myself - and you can't tell me what to do in this case." Negotiations. Persuasion. Bribery.... sometimes these things work; sometimes not. Part of the reason this fails, I discovered, is because my mom would tell me those dysfunctional ways of coping were "for my own good", "it'll make you feel better and if it makes you feel better it can't be bad", and "well, it could be worse".... prime example: mindlessly eat this whole bag of potato chips... it'll make you feel better. Sure, the repetitive motion of nibbling continuously and "checking out" mentally - withdrawal - while stuffing all those empty calories into my mouth (she didn't have to cook, you see...) did occasionally let me restore and rebalance myself. Operative word: occasionally. By accident even. It was a substitute for what I really NEEDED. A pacifier, sometimes. A diversion, other times.
So many of my bad habits are a direct reaction to the ever-present message my mom gave me (explicitly and implied sub-text):
go away and take care of your own needs and leave me alone
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' nuff for now... jump in anywhere... and I'll be back to add more later...
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Hello Amber,
Just wondering if you have tried meditation or relaxing your entire body, clearing your mind, visualizing and making suggestions (a kind of self-hypnosis--it used to be called)?
Years ago, I took this quote to heart:
"Happiness is not a circumstance, but a choice." which I believe is a shortened version of:
"Happiness is not in our circumstance but in ourselves. It is not something we see, ... Happiness is a choice that requires effort at times."
Scottish Proverb
It got me to thinking about who is in charge of my life, my brain, my behaviour anyhow and so I went seeking information on how to make some big changes (which the most promising of the info seemed to be the "self-hypnosis" thingy, at the time.......so I tried it). Both the quote and the technique have helped me over and over, time and again. It does take persistent and consistent effort though.
Assuming that your ultimate goal is to be content/happy (with your self and your behaviour), I wonder if it might be something to look into? If not, pitch the idea.
Sela
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Thanks for jumping in!
Sela - yes, I am pretty well-versed in meditation and have a routine I follow. But, you've got a great point... part of the "why" behind the behaviors I'm trying to change involves feeling OK - or content - at the moment. I'll come back to that.
Guest - LOL! You hit the paradoxical "kicker" about this, right in the head. And then nailed it to the floor, so I can take my time looking at it. Let's talk smoking for a minute, for a specific example. (Yes, Hops, I remember all you've said about addiction and I do consider that in my pondering, too...) We can agree that smoking is bad. And I can "wish" that I didn't smoke... and further - I've researched all the methods for quitting, both assisted and not, and have even gone through the actual attempts more times than I can count. I know I can be a non-smoker, because I didn't smoke for 2 years. I know the CBT methods backwards and forwards and won't bore everyone with reciting them. I've tried most of the NRT stuff, too..... and know the self-hypnosis routines.
And the flip side of wanting to stop smoking, is beating myself up about it. Shaking a mental finger at myself; lecturing myself; throwing all the "shoulda, coulda, oughta's" at myself... even shaming myself.... and this is a critical piece of the whole process of what I'm calling "self-abuse". Substitute anything for smoking: losing 10 lbs, exercise more, keeping the house clean, practicing healthy boundaries.... anything can be part of this crazy circular, self-restricting and defeating loop. And it all points to "something I need to fix about myself"... or something "I need right now" ... and it keeps the whole loop going. Fact is, there are a lot of things that fit in here... and I can link them back to my old experience and trauma; there is a very strong connection in fact.
That connection is through emotions... and how they built - over time - beliefs about myself... and my inner understanding of whether I "can" or "can't" [fill in the blank]. And there is also (I've discovered after a lot of self-observation) a big connection or correlation to my emotional "needs", specifically needs that went unfilled - or in some cases, were used to hurt me.
Discussion in therapy, about those beliefs and the connections, kept coming back to those two questions:
why can't I make a committment to my self?
why don't I trust my self?
I gotta admit, committment and trust (for starting & follow through), are sorta prerequisites for attempting the kind of change (active) I keep talking about, but never do. The answers to those questions are closer to what river was talking about... about having 2 wills. I've noticed, for instance, that if I make any clear, overt, determined decisions about not smoking.... I smoke even more. (I am currently tracking how many I smoke - without setting any reduction goals - because the goals are counterproductive. And yes, "not setting a goal" somehow "magically" reduces how many I smoke - but there is also something else going on*.) This is what is maddening... and "abnormal" or dysfunctional:
it's as if my relationship with myself was broken, specifically around "what I need". 40 years ago. And so, I have a whole lifetime of weird workarounds, make-dos, and substitutions (coping/defense mechanisms) to unravel and remodel. And that's sort of what I've been doing since therapy. More of the "inner" work... and I feel as if I'm close to being ready to tackle the outer: except for this problem of the 2 wills and the huge resistance (and even vengence) of one will.
*I'll try to describe what else is going on: it's an integration process - a melting into - merging - of my Twiggy self and "me" - Amber.... which is, accordingly with the laws of nature... morphing or evolving or simply growing into someone who is both - and not completely either one. And no, it's not like multiple identities; it's not nearly so extreme - way more subtle.
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In my inner child work with "Twiggy", I realized that she was as skittish and defensive as a feral cat. And I had to coax her to even get her to tell me all her secrets. Too much pressure or too strong a demand - and I had a fight on my hands or she'd go "hide". Basically, I put out the offer to listen, like placing a bowl of milk for a kitty - and then waited. Eventually hunger won out over fear. Even when I'd ask her, about cooperating and assisting me in a specific change... sometimes I'd get the "you can't tell me what to do" and "I can do what I want - so there!!" (Twiggy was my 11-12-13 yr old me; sound familiar?). She was frightened; hurt; grieving.... and I've spent years now going through all of that with her and she has "grown up" over time - except for this kind of resistance: the separated will to self-destruct; to sabotage; to screw things up or hurt herself.
And I think, in order to change anything external - I have to start right there. It involves what the professionals call "alienation of affection", parentification, and what Twiggy & I have always called: brainwashing. It involves what I call "negative attachment" - which is being family-connected to and powerless to change, a person you love (or think you do/should) who consistently hurts you - or runs over you, violating boundaries... either intentionally, or because they themselves are totally messed up. edit in: OH YEAH - I forgot; it also involves creativity and rationalizations....
But I'll have to come back and go on from there.
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Hey PR,
I could not judge you LESS for all the circles you go through over smoking. Glad you do acknowledge the big bio-part.
For me, emotionally, there was also a ton of self-abuse over the addiction/habit/failure/otherpeoplequitwhydon'tI stuff. It distorted my whole relationship with myself.
I'm not sure, but what I think helped me begin to turn the corner was that one inner voice finally got just-enough louder than the abusive one. Eventually, I started to hear under that ending judging rant noise: I want to live. I really want to live.
Then my anguish over smoking became not about who I was or had failed to be. It was more direct. Grief over the risk I was taking. Grief because of love. I love life. Even when I struggle, my ultimate love is life. It is amazing. Stunning. It's a miracle. I am awash with wonder.
I want to be here.
No magic but I think it ultimately did come out of love. Big whole love.
Not so much, love (or approval) of "self"...but just, this is what I really feel about life.
I am so lucky to be alive. I don't feel it when I'm sad but other times, if I ask myself honestly...I love life. It is amazing, this world. Being a human being in it.
And, my baby did it too. I wanted to not die on her.
My in-person clinically certified hypnotherapist (good luck me doing it on my own) addressed this part of me:
Your homework before our hypnosis session is this. Go home and sit in a quiet place and write a letter. The letter is to explain: "Dear D, This letter is to explain all about why I chose the soft white sticks over being there for you. I am sorry I will miss your: _______, _____, _____, ____, and ______, but it is more important to me to put these soft white sticks in my mouth and breathe in the satisfying smoke. I love ______, ________, and ______ about smoking, and I love it more than I love you."
He asked me to write it in a heartfelt, honest way, really speaking to the essence of her from the essence of me.
I couldn't make it through the letter, bawled my head off. And I am very grateful to him. He wasn't shaming me at all. He was helping me pre-experience a real consequence of my choice.
The "soft white sticks" was my own twist on a description, taken from an Anne Sexton poem. She was obsessed with cigarettes. I saw her a few nights before she killed herself. She read in a blood-red gown, holding a cigarette, and had that image in one of her poems: "soft white sticks". That depersonalized them some for me.
love,
Hops
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Hi again PR,
A couple more thoughts:
Keep trying. Since you quit for 2 years, you know you are at least capable of quitting for 2 years again, as you said. I think it's detrimental to battle the negative voices, refuse to listen to them, cut them off quick, shoo them away, fight to substitute positive alternatives until it becomes habitual and so constant that you just won't allow the nasty self-abuse stuff to show it's face for long or carry much weight. Not easy but nothing worth achieving is, eh? And that's not to say that you will never have a negative thought about yourself again but it will become more common to stick up for yourself, even to yourself (which I wonder if that isn't what many of us hoped so badly for, which never happened as kids, which morphed into the underlying tendency to abandon "loving" ourselves as adults? No one stuck up for us so are we reliving that over and over, unconsciously hoping for a saviour, soothing ourselves in unhealthy ways -- not loving ourselves because we were trained to believe we are unlovable and no one has prooven otherwise to us? No one will. Retraining is necessary, in that case).
Also, I smoked a pack and a half a day for 30 years and have been quit now for almost 5. I have lost over 70 pounds in the last year and a half so I probably qualify as somewhat successful at overcoming some of my crutches. Sometimes it just takes someone saying something that really computes/hits home to get a person to decide it's time.
For me, it was when this woman said to me:
"It's all how badly you want it."
I guess, I decided to start telling myself that, over and over, as often as possible, every time I could think of it: "I want (blank). I will (blank)." Whether I was relaxing and trying to visualize it or shopping for groceries. The thoughts began to dominate the urges.
My new mantra has since been: "It all starts in your head." :roll:
Hope this helps, even a little.
Sela
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It's so nice to follow along with your journey, Amber.
I really enjoy lreading lessons you share: )
Lighter
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Thanks for brave and honest share. ID ID ID ++++ identify with a lot.
Ive found some words which describe my experience which seems to match yours:
Introject~spliter
Intrapsychic stucture~ emotional anatomyl
The above are professional matched up with home-spun
Me 'internal saboteur' you 'the imp'.
I had this distinct feeling the internal saboteur was not part of me. Then I found this concept 'introject'. I think N.s have a hidden agenda for the other person to fail. The implication is that the N. needs someone to act out their disowned shame.
I'll try to get back to this later, maybe - enough for now.
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the N. needs someone to act out their disowned shame
Oh my.
I could think about that for a week.
Thanks, River.
Hops
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ah... river - YES: the word "introject" is right. And along with that: projection. That was the connection between your posts and my experience that I was picking up on. More on that, as I go along.
Hops, Sela, Guest - (Hi Lighter!) - I guess I've been a little incoherent. This thread is less about the struggle of "quitting smoking" and how to do that, than it's about the fact that I'm finally making progress with this. I'm trying to talk out/through what I think is going on "behind the scenes"... and then see if it applies to all the other ways I sabotage myself or self-abuse. It's important to me to understand what is changing and maybe even figure out why. Maybe there's a common element in all that, that will connect with others (maybe river), and help throw some light and clarity onto what is a very fuzzy, weird, almost supernatural experience in one's experience/relationship with one's self. At least, it was/is for me. It helps to have concrete examples... symptoms... and for me, smoking is the main one; my main self-destructive, self-abusive method. You all remember a lot of my Twiggy-stories; I don't think river was here then... and there are new sub-chapters anyway or new ways that I've come to understand some of the pivotal points, in what happened.
It's a hell of a lots words, granted. I sort of have to talk myself in - to a state where I can look/think/feel about this and then keep talking, writing, until I've moved my observing eye out far enough to find the context of all these details, on all these layers or levels of experience; till it finally settles into "meaning" and makes sense. Maybe it's useless spinning mental wheels... but it's worked before. I do understand, if y'all get bored with it or just tired... you oughta be on this side of it!!!! LOL :D
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Introject:
River, I have a distinct memory that's mighty disturbing - I remember my mom whispering to me... telling me (on the one hand) what to think and feel about my dad. And on the other hand - asking me judge and decide which of my parents was the "better" parent. She wanted me to take sides and support her against my dad. She would challenge me to abandon my dad - as she was doing by divorcing him - in my own feelings for him. And ask me to play God or Solomon... and judge him solely on his outward behavior as a "bad person"... when I knew (even then) that he didn't want to act that way, that my mom in so many ways... didn't give him much choice and frustrated him beyond the limits of patience and understanding or tolerance. This is what's called "alienation of affection". (It wasn't even a term, back in 1969 - much less a mainstream, understood bad thing to do to kids in a divorce situation. I ran across this in my own research and so related to it and the consequences on the development of kids and adolescents.)
And of course, Nmom whispered about how natural it was for moms & daughters to always love & take care of each other; it was like some law of nature, she said***... and that all men only ever cared about was their anatomies & sexual satisfaction... and they had no feelings at all. (I already knew this was warped; I had a brother who cried alot; I had lots of friends, who happened to be boys. We talked - a LOT. It was much harder for me, even back when I was 6 or 12, to make friends with girls. I was instinctively afraid of being judged and criticized by them... and afraid that they'd "trick me" into being their slave.)
*** hmph! at the time she was whispering these things, it was already clear to me that I was doing most of the caretaking - and I knew better than to ask for any emotional connection or express any emotional needs. The response from her was always: go to your room and you just think about that; about why you're bothering - irritating - trying to hurt - me. You can come out, when you're ready to say you're sorry.
At some point, when the burden of guilty feelings started to drown me - she told me that this was my "conscience". She talked about my conscience as if it were an entity with it's own thoughts, feelings and volition.... contained somewhere IN me.
This was how she "parentified" me - persuaded, coerced, suckered me into taking care of her. And resistance to that un-natural relationship simply brought forth her anger, which she wielded like club to decimate my already vulnerable self-identity and to instill the guilt - convince me that guilt = having done a wrong to her and that I was "bad"... and needed to say I was sorry..... and of course, do what she wanted.
I felt like puppet - and she was the one "pulling my strings". At the time, I only knew I didn't like this. I spent as much time away from home as I could - with friends and their parents. And I noticed the differences. What I didn't know - and didn't have any way of knowing - is that she had groomed me to not have any boundaries, where she was concerned. Somehow, I was strong enough to try, anyway... to have my "own" self that wasn't her. But it was fragile, soft, and it had to be a "secret" or I'd risk the punishment that she dished out. But this is the source of what I call "negative attachment". I of course, was a good girl and did as I was told; smart enough to anticipate her expectations, too. But, it wasn't until I was over 50, that I realized that this connection with her was toxic to me and hurt me; it broke my heart when I finally realized that my mom simply didn't love me; she only loved the version of me that she created. The upside of this? Yes, there is one. I didn't feel obligated to cherish and love her anymore either. The liberation that followed that realization is still running through my life and changing things.
SIGH. How I possibly tell anyone all this - in 1969 - without getting myself committed to an insane asylum? At 12? What happened to kids at the hands of their parents - as long as there were no bruises, they were fed & clothed - was the parent's business. Things have thankfully improved, but there's still a ways to go, I think.
So at the end of the whole divorce saga - the months & months of anxiety, sadness, and this brainwashing campaign - she won me over to her cause. There was violence; and trauma while no parents were home - I had a near-death experience. And yet, when I came to my senses after all that - I was still functioning fairly normally, mentally. I found a hiding place for my brother and made food for us - to stay safe. And of course, when my mom returned I had to explain what I was doing in the attic; what was wrong with my brother (his behavior had regressed to infantile and he didn't speak for months after what we went through)...
the coup de grace - what finally did me in - was the fact that when I told my mom what had happened she flat out didn't believe me, and she started in on me about manufacturing some wild imaginary story that eventually evolved into a theory that I was trying to get back at her; hurt her; because she was divorcing my dad. I was in a no-win situation... and even though I had evidence to back up my story, and tried to enlist the people who knew to help me out... and all my protests about "I know what happened" were overridden by her insistence that it didn't'; when I pointed out that she wasn't there - I was - then she upped her game of abuse to force me to submit. She is still in denial about this episode and continues to tell me things like "you won't remember it right".
So, in the end, I had to submit to her... to survive. I had to split off the part of me that was in agony and needed help - because there was no help. I had to create an "appearance" of me that didn't violate her definition of who I was... and that created a crisis; conflict of self-identity... which became, eventually, a lifelong generalized anxiety... which was only temporarily soothed, via Camel tobacco. I'd found a way to mirror and mark myself (attachment) though smoking - to validate my own feelings and thoughts and memories... essentially to mother myself with what I knew prior to the trauma was a deadly, stinky, self-destructive vice. It was fitting, don't you think? An appropriate symbol to provide an inescapable clue to solving the mystery of my self - through an attachment (this time addiction) to something I used to make myself feel real, cared about - that would ultimately kill me.
There are other examples of ways I'd try to self-destruct. Smoking is just the most persistent one. But you know, river - your description of having two wills is just so perfect especially for this habit, it really connected with me. The "me" that was split off back then was still in total agony when I reclaimed her 40 years later. She truly wanted to die... it really couldn't be any worse than being faced with the fact her actual parents were alive and they absolutely didn't care what happened to her; she would've been better off if she'd been orphaned because that level of rejection was the one that almost snuffed her existence out with that level of pain, anyway. But at the same time, she had a really high level of desire to survive; to fight and win; and it was this aspect of her that I have - over a long time now - been reaching out to; validating; appreciating - and reminding HER of her own inherent ability to do survive just about anything.
Just like with a feral cat - I've had to win her over and slowly introduce other opinions than those that were whispered to and about her, so long ago. I've had to praise, acknowledge the difficulty, grieve the losses - and basically walk through all the different places of her story with her, over & over. And slowly but surely, she's beginning to believe that I am committed to her... and she's beginning to trust me... and instead of being two wills opposing each other.... we're becoming only two aspects of the same person. One that lived 40 years ago; and me now.
And the interesting thing is, that it's this merging - morphing into each other process that seems to be responsible for the fact that I'm not smoking nearly as much... without a plan, effort, or intention. This is the part I really want to try to figure out!! I know how the split happened; how I went into hiding... but this healing part is indistinct, gradual... almost without "steps to re-unite"... but I think it's important that I try to find words for what constitutes this process. Operative word: try!
:D
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I think it's important you try to find the words too, Amber.
::looking forward to reading them::
Light
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hmm, yes. Theres such a lot there, and I was talking back to you as I was reading. Im not sure which bit now to go back to and reply, so I think Ill just steam ahead ... somehow.
You kept part of you apart and safe, and nomatter, even when you gave in, would it be true to say there was still this bit of you kept clean, kept away and safe?
I experienced same pattern with NM getting in the way of relationship with father. Same affected by deeply laid guilt. Also I went into the world without any boundaries, or in fact any clue whatsoever of how to live life. As a child I was co-opted, I didnt know any better. At 13 1/2ys old, one incident was a trigger for a sudden moment, and in a split second, anger woke in me, and I felt revulsion, it took me the rest of my life to find understanding and the beginnings of resolution of this. Which is up to today. .....
My main blocks on which Ive built recovery are:
- 12 step recovery
- the Masterson approach to the disorders of the self
Vi
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Some concepts I've got from these:
That changing ourselves is out of our power, 'we do the footwork, God brings the result' ~ is the phrase I've heard. God, or whatever you call whatever it is that is a power we cannot control.
#The 'defiant power of the human spirit'. The 'noetic' within us knows what's right from wrong.
This is also part of whats called the 'Real Self'. When the mother exerts a 'relational bargain' on the child, a Disorder of the Self is created.
Recovery involves a revitalising, and recvory of the Real Self. ~ list of the real self qualities in here: www.selfinexile.com the real self page
the particular disorder of self I had is the one common when an N mum is involved, this one is a back and forth between the 'slave/master' relationship ~ ie everything from the being used part with N.M to the no boundaries, no rights in other relationships part, ~ AND ~ the other half of this D.O.S, is the 'self in exile'. Picture of this + info at www.selfinexile.
i needed this undedrstanding. everythi esle for me was trying to defy gravity.
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sorry about above spoonerisms, dislexic spelling, its late here, I'll shut up in a minute....
One more thing, I needed to (no, 2 more things), I needed to understand this it wasnt just about Nism, or some dysfunctional family. I could see that there is a dynamic between all the disorders, one giving rise to another, and it perpetuates until someone sees it and stops the buck. As hopefully we are doing here.
the other thing I needed was someway to connect into the world from the place of this understanding, and not be blocked off with it all, 'the only one to see'.
So, you, or anyone whose interested, Id like to talk further about .... Im interested in creating proper paths to healing with these models
any way, Im up too long, its after Midnight..... : 0 see you in the morning : o ) and thanks for communicating all this...
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Thanks for the link, river - there's a lot to digest there. A quick scan of the info, confirms that a good bit of it will apply to me - either as I used to be, where I'm at in my journey/struggle now, or maybe a seed of an idea will germinate into something that will blossom, later on. Thanks!
I know I'm waaaay better than I used to be, but I'm still working on some things. And it doesn't matter how you say things... if I don't understand, I'll ask you about it. Funny thing, tho... I totally get what you're saying (I think), just the way you said it. For instance: "the only one to see". Yeah. I felt like that a LOT. I also felt that I could have a total emotional meltdown in public and scream about how I was being treated and point at my mother - only to be treated worse and that no one would actually hear the words or believe me. I got close to this kind of imaginary scene, in reality, a couple of times.
I understand being co-opted; being told how to think, feel and breathe. I understand how one always fails at this, because one is oneself and not the person pushing these unfair expectations, requirements and demands on one. I think I fit into the slave category on the website you suggested; then. Not so much, now.
Yes; I kept my "self" safe... but it was in a way that was more like being buried alive. That self was dangerous - because it got me in trouble with my mom; it brought forth her anger, abusive attention to me. That self has been set free and what I've discovered is that other people actually, really like and connect with her. That is the self that is merging... morphing... into my more adult personality/identity. That is the process that really interests me.
And as you've suggested, this process is "magical" or "spiritual" or "supernatural". I'm not "doing" anything specific and definitely not directlt, intentionally working on it; there's no replicable method to it. I guess that's why I'm so fascinated with trying to describe it. My techniques were learned in therapy - a form of self-hypnosis that functioned as a call out to and listening for - that real self. Body work, in the form of tai chi - because it was a direct experience of boundaries, practice in "control" of myself, and being comfortable in my own skin. Oh yes. And writing. I have 16 journals that I wrote over the course of several years. Some of it written in the voice of my adult self; and sections where my previously hidden "self" was given free rein to rant, wail, whine, accuse, blame, cry, rage, feel absurdly sorry for herself - until she realized she had other choices (not always good ones, mind you) and till she'd completely realized that I was allowing her to be - her.... but the current journal is already about 2 years old. That stream of writing has slowed down to a trickle... because I guess, it's not needed as much anymore. In a way, I acted as my own "dedicated, trusted witness" with the journals - which is a technique that the Alice Miller folks like for healing. I guess that's one way I've been learning to trust myself.
It's a long process, undoing the conditioning, imprinting, etc that made me "the way I am" and re-growing up a bit more "normal". Patience helps. So does giving myself a lot of slack - forgiveness for the difficulties I have just being "me", sometimes. I'm pretty pragmatic; except for my unconditional belief that tai chi helped me re-organize all the pieces of my "self" back into a more "normal" order and hierarchy of precedence... I understand that everyone has to find what works - for them. 12 step programs turn me off and only stimulate more resistance - but that doesn't mean they don't work or are valuable for other people.
and YES!!!!!!!!!!!! I want to keep discussing this. I'm at the point where I know my own "stuff" pretty well - how it connects and the dynamics of it; now it's sort of percolating up into the higher processing parts of my brain (and could easily go back down that spiral...) and I notice a lot of little things "going on" with me... that indicate the time is now, for finally addressing this, writing the "final report" and summary, and being done with it. Maybe by comparing notes with each other we can suggest ideas that we haven't thought of before... give each other a gentle push in the right direction.
For me, the last piece involves how I cooperated, exacerbated, participated in the funky, warped, perverse relationships of my FOO and WHY. And why... was self-sabotage... self-abuse... an attractive "safe" place???? That is the paradox inherent in negative attachment. I suspect, that when I finally spit it out after all these words, my reaction will be a forehead-slapping moment complete with a self-assessment of "Well! That was pretty dumb!!" Up till now, it was a frightening place to look at... but no longer.
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Amber:
Adding to the discussion on smoking...
Years ago I went to this seminar and one of the instructors there said to think of smoking as a smoke screen. In other words, ask yourself "What am I covering up when I smoke?" I know one man from the seminar who quit smoking when he discovered the habit covered up the rage he felt toward his parents. After he started to confront the rage his desire to smoke completely stopped. He lost his taste for it.
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Thanks, SF... I've used that analogy, too; along with smoke signals - as in SOS - someone please HELP me. A silent (voiceless) cry for help... over the years, I've talked my way all the way into, under, around, above/below and yes, through - too - the whole phenomena of smoking. Doesn't help one wit. In fact, one of the oddities about my smoking habit is that all that attention only makes it worse; increases the activity. Like the resentful teen I was when I started smoking... pouting that: "I can do what I want and you can't tell me what to do"... "I'm not hurting you - if anything, this only hurts myself". And all this from a kid who knew smoking was lethal - before the surgeon general put his labels on the packs: I watched how smoking killed an aunt who was a lifeline during my traumatic times; lung cancer kill someone else. That's really what it is, you see: an intentional decision to do something that would kill me.... made a long time ago... when I and my life were very different.
Now, I'm looking way beyond the smoking itself - deeper into the emotional patterns, I guess you'd say; into my attachment issues; and even how my peculiar brain/body interact with each other - for the genesis of what appears to be an intentional self-destuctive decision that refuses to even allow for the possibility of "letting go" of the "soft white sticks".
I have to confess: all those journals that I allowed my "hidden, inner child" self to fill with her loss and rage and conversation and the relationship between us, that has grown over time; all that writing wouldn't have happened without cigarettes. Sometimes, I'd argue that she didn't need to smoke to write; to remember... and I provided concrete examples: proof... but any time an intense emotional topic arose... there needed to be a cigarette or a pack... for her to face and relate it.... and to let me help her put that chapter, or event - to rest.
As that pre-teen kid with the world on her shoulders that disintegrated into a thousand shattered pieces in the course of 1 day... she was already pretty well-read and was never without a stack of books; she resented the librarian who put adult non-fiction "off-limits" simply due to her age... Twiggy NEEDED that information. As well, she was completely unschooled in emotions and managing them - and really wasn't aware of it; her emotional self was that of a younger kid - fond of fairy tales, happy endings, and a need to be liked; approved by adults - the validation of self that seriously lacking at home.
I "think"... maybe... I became convinced that since a.) I couldn't stop feeling things and b.) I couldn't feel in the "approved" manner and c.) I felt things quite intensely... that I determined (in my kid-logic way) that I was so seriously flawed as a person that I should've been left on a mountaintop as an infant to die. I think that's what I thought... but since "I" already was "so old"... a teenager already... I decided to opt for other methods. It might take longer, sure - but it was also a sure thing, in my mind.
Where I get totally lost in trying to retrace what I thought & felt back then... what I did and decided... is when I try to reconcile the above with the fact that I was absolutely 100% concentrated on, dedicated to, and ruthlessly determined to:
survive.
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sorry about above spoonerisms, dislexic spelling, its late here, I'll shut up in a minute....
One more thing, I needed to (no, 2 more things), I needed to understand this it wasnt just about Nism, or some dysfunctional family. I could see that there is a dynamic between all the disorders, one giving rise to another, and it perpetuates until someone sees it and stops the buck. As hopefully we are doing here.
the other thing I needed was someway to connect into the world from the place of this understanding, and not be blocked off with it all, 'the only one to see'.
So, you, or anyone whose interested, Id like to talk further about .... Im interested in creating proper paths to healing with these models
any way, Im up too long, its after Midnight..... : 0 see you in the morning : o ) and thanks for communicating all this...
Hey there, river...
I've been digesting the website you suggested. It is sort of strange to see some of the exact same words I've used to talk about myself and what "happened" to me coming from another source. And part of my brain is really objecting to the word "schizoid" in all of it, too. As in, NO, that's not me... nope; you're wrong... schizoids have a biological brain disorder... so it's wrongly applied to me...
and then the author quoted Daniel Schore. Ooops. Schore was a huge revelation for me, in the work that I've done so far. So helpful. So dead-on descriptive - going from the neuroscience, through the levels of inner experience/emotion, to external behavior. Connecting, unifying, synthesizing... facts about various realms of being. And how inappropriate maternal attachment sets the misaligned pattern for later brain-being development.
So, I find I have to accept that word - in it's meaning of being split; duality - because I am intimately acquainted with projective identification; introjection; the slave-master relationship; being the family "dustbuster", "sentry", etc... oh and the biggest connection for me was the word: integrity. I know exactly what incident was the last straw for me - when I had to accept the reality of the betrayal bond - and perhaps coincidentally; perhaps it's linked - that is the same time frame when smoking became more than "experimental" and when a "witch-doctor" described for me the process of "splitting" myself and recommending that if the pain became "too much" that I could do this - and still continue living. Yes, I believe she was a psychologist or psychiatrist. She apologized for only offering me that "way out", because we only had time to meet once. In some ways, this did save my life... but it was also a huge obstacle that I didn't understand about myself, too.
You see, I was resisting this technique of compromise/survival and fighting it with everything I could think of. That resulted in a kind of emotional "stuck record needle" of rage, flipping into inconsolable grief on the "b" side. Over the summer vacation... it wasn't a problem. But you see, the rest of my brain couldn't function at all - writing, reading, thinking linearly were practically impossible - and school was starting in a month. That "split" - when I put Twiggy into the chinese box - was necessary to continuing on with my life and I knew also, that education and attaining adulthood were the only viable means of "escape" open to me.
But all that is beside the point now. You want to know about how to go about recovery - and so do I. To be fair to myself and honest with you, I have to say that I'm pretty well along that path, even though I still cling to this group of people online because of the relationships that have formed over time. This place is my touchstone of validation, understanding and caring - when I'm finding it hard to do this myself, am not recognizing this in my 3-D relationships or don't even know that I have this need. These relationships have been and continue to be absolutely essential to my healing.
Where I'm currently at and what I'm staring down and confronting is what is described on the exile site as "the internal sabateur". I can understand some things about it - like how it popped into being as a reaction to boundary intrusions; introjections; projective identification, etc. What I'm not sure about at the moment is whether or not it is really me, and something that I should claim as myself - and love it back into it's proper "place'... or if it's really not me - being instead the content pushed into; onto me. I'll be sitting with that for a bit; pondering and observing. What SallyingForth said about smoking being a "smokescreen" fits here... sort of a means for me to be "me" - and not Nm - and still co-exist in relationship with her, without withdrawing completely.
My experience so far, working on this, is that one can't deal directly with the inner subversive. So instead, I've ignored it and simply gone about working on expressing feelings & needs, opening myself to relationships, strengthening boundaries... putting my obsessive attention on positive things and being as much "me" as I can - without the "good-bad" labels and judgements. It seems to be filling up some kind of beaker on a balance... and diminishing the control/necessity of the subversive... and removing the need for it's existence. I have had increasing "moments" when I've been completely, totally "whole me" again - and have experienced a sense that this was breaking some sort of taboo; breaking a rule; or crossing some dangerous line... only to find/discover that "nothing bad happened" because of it. And that builds confidence in myself; re-establishes my sense of integrity in myself - my wholeness as a person; and also "innoculates" me and builds more immunity to being triggered back into the same old patterns by new incidents that resemble old abuses/trauma.
The more I can do this... I find that the less I smoke. You won't find this technique in any of the quitting literature. But it's working - albeit slowly - for me.
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So..... I'm thinking that perhaps everyone has a capacity for this kind of splitting; duality of self. That it is a fail-safe design "option" (if... then.... else) of how humans are actually designed. Sort of like dissociation or Stockholm Syndrome - in that, in an extreme situation we humans are able to twist ourselves into any configuration of "consciousness" necessary to ensure ego-survival. Just as each person is a totally unique individual - different levels of sensitivity to external conditions imposed on one can trigger to a greater or lesser degree the fail-safe, "last resort" option built into our brains.
Here's where I might differ in opinion from others: I believe that if it's possible to distort our "selves" to survive that kind of dire situation... it's also possible to put things right. But, there's no one size fits all remedy for that - even if there do appear to be aspects of the task, that we, collectively, share in common.
High up on that list of skills that lend themselves to these tasks, is the ability to self-observe I think. What my T called, the "observing ego", which I think might correspond to a higher level processing center of the brain. It's able to absorb the raw, intense, emotional signals of the flight/freeze/fight centers of the brain - signals that contributed to a "self-in-exile" survival strategy in the first place - and slow down the analysis, tease apart tangled emotions, evaluate utility, validate reality based on external signals from the senses, and modulate physical responses - the jittery, jumpy fear or anxiety carried along the pathways of the sympathetic nervous system. This is the part of the brain, that enables the ability to speak, write in 3rd person narrative... again, I THINK. And it's an important tool, for me.
I also propose, that in a traumatic life/death situation - or in a continously abusive situation - I think sometimes, the ability to engage that part of the brain "leaves" us; we can't quite make the shift into that level of the brain and using that tool. So, like a stroke victim - we have a bunch of pieces of experience; very real, very clear sensory data and a lot of reflex, instinctive - one could say regressive "kid logic" - type "thinking" patterns that emerge. And these are experienced and expressed in a disjointed fashion - the natural connecting bits of language, narrative, and linear sequencing goes out the window. Think of how someone who's just experienced a very frightening situation talks - everything is jumbled; disjointed; out of sequence and each little bit expressed is of equal importance.... and it's only after some time, and an acknowledgement of "oh - I'm safe now; oh - there's someone else here; oh - it's OK" that the person is able to "tell the story" in a way that "makes sense" - has meaning and is understandable to others.
It's that time period of brain-regrouping that's important to HOW we develop that story. Whether there really is another person - a "safe" person, there. Whether we are alone. Whether we bounce from frying pan into fire... or whether we find a safe place simply to rest. And whether or not, we are able to reboot the higher level processing parts of our brains... and keep all the parts of our "selves" together, in the usual amounts and order. Sometimes - that regressive emergence of "kid-logic" also gets "stuck" in our brains; a self-descriptive identity that we've already grown out of gets pasted back on top of our current selves... as a way of "remembering" who we were - BEFORE.
The real "horror of my situation" that sent me over the edge wasn't the violence; the rape. I understood violence and how it worked; I didn't feel that I'd especially "brought this on myself". It was awful; I thought I was dying or dead. But, the real horror was confronting the fact of my mother's denial of the reality of what had happened to me. And her own part of responsibility in the drama we all experienced. And how she rationalized it all away with what Dr. G calls a "soothing distortion" and I call a lie - and my real trauma occurred when I refused to agree with her version of events. That provoked the campaign of brainwashing and propaganda, which she'd been working on anyway... trying to get me to side with her and vilify my dad, in her war of righteousness with him, to muster up the courage to divorce him. And of course - later, as well. It was probably a year or so later, that I finally realized she was - and remains - mentally ill.
While I was struggling with the idea, that I could "put part of myself away"... so that my brain would function well enough to go to school, the one thing I kept thinking was that I wished, I wanted, would do anything at all - to be like BEFORE. Well - things just don't work that way in real life. But because that "before me" was the one who got me into trouble with my mom - because the "before me" was dangerous in ways that I simply couldn't defend against at that age... It was the "before me" that went into exile; hiding... and it was the "before me" that had such a strong survival instinct, that turned into the "internal sabateur". That was bold enough to smoke and not care if it killed me. That wanted to send "smoke signals" up and hope a hero would come rescue me; would see me through the facades and the haze. And it was the before me who resisted all attempts to quit smoking - because in a way, the self that I am now is responsible for abandoning her 40 years ago. She lived in a world where you punished people for any little thing. Where violence was a fact of life. And she was pretty mad at me - and I've had to admit that I can see why, to her. I've had to try to repair the relationship - without demanding a thing of her.
Like putting out a bowl of milk to entice a feral cat.
And I've had to let her rant, rave, and carry on... I've had to endure all kinds of snippets of emotional, sensory, and even physical memory that she "shows" me... and I've had to hug her over & over; thank her; and show her respect and compassion and kindness and even forgiveness... and slowly but surely re-establish trust and introduce the idea that the "before" is in the past and can't be "now"... but that she can be "now" in my current life because it's no longer dangerous and I miss her... and while she "still wants a mommy"... I can do that for her - mother my own self - she's also big enough to not need one as much. And so she's matured; grown-up; grown into "me".
I've had to forgive her, for accepting the temptation of addiction to smoking. I've had to teach her how shame, fear, and abuse were the real cause of her "need" to "hide in plain sight". How maternal neglect left her with the barest of emotional education... and how she had to find a way to satisfy her own needs. And I've had to forgive her for wishing she was dead... and using smoking addiction as her way of "getting there".
and lord knows - it's taken me a hell of a lot of words and babbling over & over & over ad nauseum - to finally get to the point where we're both of us - the "now me" and the "before me" - on the same wavelength. Where it's just Amber... past, present, dippy, and smart... and smart-ass or irreverent... and vulnerable and emotional... all those things that I can be at any given moment.... and all that "separation" is over - done - fixed.
And now, maybe, I can go on and talk about other things! :D
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(((Amber)))
::still amazed::
Light
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HUH... lighter... I'm still just trying to survive, ya know? Albeit, with a little more style, fun and bright colors and flavors, these days.
After letting the above "sit" for a few days, I've sort of realized part of the reason I've been at another "brick wall" is because I can forgive the "other, wounded me" as much as I can... but until she forgives me... well, it's impasse time. I mean, there literally wasn't anyone to care - except me. Anyone to try to think about how it all "made sense" - except me. Anyone to choose a "plan" for escape that had any possibility of being realized - except me.
In some ways, it's as if my Left & Right Brain were two independently functioning identities (see: Jill Bolte Taylor's "Stroke of Insight"). Two countries without diplomatic relations or even communication at critical times. Rbrain's existence was so painful - emotionally, intellectually and even physically - that it hurt to breathe; literally. That pain blotted out all but the most juvenile memories of "good; feels good" existence. In that circumstance, death literally didn't seem so awful and might even turn out to have some relief, or positive unintended side effects...
The way back to functioning, was Left Brain - the "me" that could decode words while reading... who could understand processes - linear and otherwise - and I knew that nicotine was a huge activator of Left Brain activity, from experimental experience. As that 12-13 yr old, I was completely convinced that I could understand what was happening to me, what was wrong with my mother, and how to correct it - if only I was "smart" enough; somewhere there was a sacred piece of information that would make it all "make sense". So, that's when my "search" started. Trying to find answers. This was convenient, because it also supported what I saw as my "only way out" of the FOO roles and being the "straight man" for some relational joke that was always on me (or shame or anger)... that I never saw coming because I felt I wasn't "smart enough" to see the "gotchas" in how I was being set up... I trusted; but I was trusting the wrong people. Anyway, my way out was school. I would "get smart", get a good job, and not ever have to go back to "mom". At school, of course, teachers responded to my drive and motivation to learn and master whatever was thrown at me. As I began writing a few things, teachers also responded to the depth of experience I'd already had and the insights that provided... though I wasn't aware that this was anything unusual. Typically, high school kids aren't that well acquainted with that level of loss and grief - and dysfunctional families - as I was. And I usually sought out the kids who did understand - while not ever becoming a "part of the group". I floated amongst a lot of the social circles... observing... comparing... evaluating... judging... trying to figure out if I "belonged" anywhere.
And yes, smoking. It served a functional purpose and I "believed" in the ability of nicotine to help me "think" better. It was also a way to "hide" my real self (the wounded, vulnerable, intensely emotional exiled part) in plain sight. It was "how I connected" to people, as well... because I was "safe" behind my cigarette (and my Left brain)... and I also "protected" others from dealing with that self (as my mom required of me). So I learned the technique of "conditional thinking"... ie, as long as that part of me was "hidden" behind the smoke screen - it was OK, permitted, allowed - to interact with others. It was even necessary for my ability to connect Lbrain "me" - with that more Rbrain, exiled me. And so I chain-smoked my way through the pages of journaled, channelled ranting & wailing of the "exile". Just like I did with all my paintings and other art work. It was how I learned to connect both parts of my brain; and perhaps (this is just theorizing) even kickstarting a higher processing center of my brain.
::sigh:: See the parallel with an insecure or disordered attachment style? I coined a phrase for this: the comfort that kills. Kinda says it all about smoking AND my relationship with my mom. What I didn't know, experientially or intellectually, at the time I realized that smoking helped Lbrain functioning... was the deal I was making. The exiled "me" was desperate and willing to sell my soul - which is another way of saying I accepted the addiction part of smoking as a "means to an end"; a pragmatic bargain with consequences I was able to postpone dealing with - until some fuzzy moment "later". The "exile me" didn't really care if this was ultimately fatal; that was just fine with her. The smoking was the ONLY link between "me" and "her" - a lifeline of sorts; self-validation even. The "exile me" WAS the reason I smoke; why I couldn't stop - I couldn't let go of her, she was also "me". And even though she was willing to sacrifice herself for some - any - relief... she was still the main source of my survival instinct; that intensity and relentless drive. And therefore: the absolute and total resistance (and experienced discomfort for Lbrain "me") to not having the cigarettes around and smoking them.
This was still the main question underlying all my other questions - even in my last "tune-up" session with my T. Why can't I quit smoking - why is it, all the techniques that work for others, fail?? I was so frustrated with it... working on it... trying to "see" what I had to be missing that would provide the "answer" so I would know how to go about this successfully - and I've frustrated and bored so many of you here, with the circling back time & again to this that I just dropped it and tried to approach it from another flanking direction. Thinking: OK, maybe I can get there by tunnelling all the way through this other mountain... nope.
So, from that last session with my T... two things remain implanted in my brain. One is, that she said she's found that rationalizations (excuses is another word for this) have a particular stench or color or aura - they stand out in our thinking, no matter how scientific, or valid, or important the rationalization tries to make itself appear. And that she's learned that rationalizations are simply time-wasters, so she tries to snuff them out, shut them up the minute she becomes aware of that particular thought's "true nature". People have told me, that I am the "Queen of Excuses"... and I believe that it's the "exile me" that's behind those excuses... with a rebellious "I don't wanna"... and also a valid fear: a fear that without the smoking that she'll simply disappear; cease to exist. (Referencing the "shunned" experience, gaslighting and her "chinese box".)
The second thing we talked about, since I'd figured out the attachment issues were the source point for everything else and started owning it... was that she said it sounded as if I were seeking the "archetypal mother". Talking through that some, I realized the only way to "find" that - was to become it, or at least try and work on it. Well - at the time - that went nowhere pretty quickly. It just sort of fizzled out as any kind of healing technique or path. Except: in the context of the "exile me" or "inner child" work. Or for another image, trying to gain the trust of a feral cat and domesticate it.
Maybe it was finding the real cat in the parking lot - her little paws were burnt from the blazing asphalt - and our instant recognition of each other (she jumped into my arms without hesitation, even after I dropped my purse & startled her) - maybe it was the relationship with the real kitty that symbolized the unobservable relationship change between "me" and my feral "exile me" - and our complete understanding and instant bonding with each other and mutual respect and development of trust... that worked to start the process working on me & me. This kitty has boundaries and lets me know them - usually very gently. I'm still working on teaching her mine - but she responds (very un-catlike) to my voice commands. And though she's becoming comfortable around other people - she makes it clear that she is "my" cat. She sits with me while I post and is usually very behaved and just "here". She wants recognition of her presence, only rarely demanding it.
That boundary setting has been happening between the split parts of me, too. And while I've often giggled at some of the wilder whims of exile me... she's such a sarcastic smart ass... I've been teaching her ways to be in my "world", just as she is - without the hiding, without the smokescreen... little by little... over time. As opportunities present themselves, she's been "allowed" to express herself, as herself. So that - we're not as separate and distinctly "different" anymore... and she realizes I'm not going to "sell her out" and she relaxes and the fear recedes... and that while I'm not her "archetypal mother", I'm also not too bad at this... and we have started to mirror/mark each other... and slowly - sort on a geological-change time frame - slowly but surely, those attachment issues are becoming less of an obstacle... and there's less need for excuses/rationalizations... and smoking simply becomes less - seemingly on it's own without effort - because the "necessity" of the smokescreen doesn't exist anymore. I basically "forget" to smoke. And it's taken a very, very long time and requires patience on my part - to convince her that's safe, OK, and that I believe she can do this - and will even help. She is also able to help - by being more present & conscious and not clinging to her "excuses" more than being engaged in other things. That's a bad habit she picked up from mom; and it doesn't fit either one of us - her passionate nature or my GitRdone processes.
So that, like how my kitty comes and snuggles up next to me for her morning nap now... the exile me will snuggle up to "me" and luxuriate in the comfort of not having to struggle or be vigilant or on guard - hiding - anymore. 'Coz I've got her back and she's got mine.
And we do other things instead of "hiding" now... behind smoking... more often.
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Glacial progresss....
tracking number smoked connects into Twiggy's careful tracking of number of puffs... at the very beginning of the process.
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I love you, PR...
and I don't think she needs to forgive you at all.
You are her mother and you love her.
She's just glad to be at peace, quietly resting, connected and integrated and whole with you.
I bet there has never been an issue of forgiveness. Nothing to forgive.
xxxxoooo
Hops
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HUH... lighter... I'm still just trying to survive, ya know? Albeit, with a little more style, fun and bright colors and flavors, these days.
And we do other things instead of "hiding" now... behind smoking... more often.
Amber:
Here's to doing other things........ with a little more style, fun and bright colors and flavors: )
Question: Have you read many of Joseph Campbell's books, and if so..... is it helping?
((()))Lighter
ps It's about time for another Amazon circle.... I have the perfect yard for the bonfire. My fur loin cloth's still in boxes, darnit, but I found my sandals and sword.
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I'm leaning more toward the Jean D'Arc chain mail, sword at the ready and a sturdy pair of chinese kung fu shoes & leather strapped leggings... the better to leap onto my black stallion bareback and race off to meet the "enemy" at full tilt like some mad scotch-irish warrior princess. (I am nothing, if not a multiculturally mixed metaphor!!)
The little blip I posted a couple days ago was the start of like a weekly eval - that got cut short. I had to don the above and ride into action with MIL. At 6:30 am, no less... which is my sacrosant "me" time when I usually check in here and post, among other things. And then, I didn't "come up for air" for 2 days. I was finally handing off my cold to hubby (who is now totally miserable, poor thing, just like I was) and we basically spent 2 days in freezing temps in the hospital - seriously, something was wrong with their HVAC and they were handing out heated blankets, even in waiting rooms.
MIL's Coumadin balance - which has been fine - unbeknownst to any of us, went completely wacko. Maybe the cancer drug she's taking has something to do with it - even the ER Doc said we probably wouldn't ever be able to say what caused it - but the symptoms showed up in tremendous pain in her thigh muscles and she couldn't walk, unassisted. His guess was that she was bleeding into the muscle, which is what made it swell and tighten up like a rock. She improved quite a bit after getting some real sleep and with treatment, overnight... tho' she still has a lot of pain trying to move that leg. Which is a good thing, since she had her regular monthly tests at the hospital the next day. We make a run into her Dr's office this afternoon for another check on her coumadin levels and a chat with the Dr - who's been monitoring this level on a monthly basis. It would appear this drug needs to be adjusted and perhaps monitored more closely.
So I've been "on call" to help her get around, bring her things, help her dress... and try to get her to eat. And that has been a battle of wills. I think sometimes, she doesn't accurately perceive how little her portions are - she stops me filling her plate after 1 Tsp, literally - of veggies or sides and only eats 1/2 of a normal portion of meat. Then, the other day, she said that after she eats a few bites she feels that she will be sick if she eats more than that. I've seen her only eat two bites and believe she's "full".
Yesterday, she said that she felt disgusted that she needed my help to get from bed to the bathroom. Well, I get it. She's practically famous in the family for her independence - she was widowed in '72 and raised hubby's two much younger sibs alone. God forbid I pick up milk for her at the store - she wants to know how much it cost so she can pay me... and doesn't believe us when we tell her a prescription only cost $ .68 - I have to show her the receipt. She writes me a rent check every month... sigh!! And she doesn't understand that money isn't a concern for us, now. She really, really, really doesn't want to be dependent on anyone... a burden, in her mind. So, instead of calling me when her leg kept her from falling asleep that night - she waited until morning. I had to explain to her that I didn't want her to do that again - she thought she was being considerate and doing me a favor - I had to tell her, that she didn't deserve to be in that much pain and it didn't matter what time of night it was, I always hear the phone and I'd be glad run downstairs and try to help. It's not like I have job/family commitments other than her and hubby and my fat, grumpy old dog.
Geriatric care is a complex thing, because there are usually multiple issues - and consequently multiple treatments going on and the balance between them all is a delicate thing There has to be communication and coordination between everyone. She's had a stroke - and while she's recovered better than most do, there are still some minor neuro issues and I'm trying to suss out whether there are some I'm not aware of (and I also worry I might be imagining some, too). She's had lung surgery - and the recovery time was almost 2 years; in that 2 years she lost a lot of muscle tone and strength. She has an irregular heartbeat and takes a drug for that - and also takes blood pressure/cholesterol medication with the coumadin. Then there was radiation... and now a biologic cancer "maintenance" drug. I had pushed the oncologist about drug interactions, at the time he prescribed and he made an interesting observation - that since her cancer seems to be going into a more active phase, it didn't make a lot of sense to worry about preventing high cholesterol and as far as he was concerned, if a problem arose, he didn't see why she couldn't stop taking that medication. I wonder, if he would say the same thing, if he knew the meds were making her stomach so sensitive she wasn't eating enough?? And there are so many pills, with so many different - sometimes conflicting - instructions I can't even keep them straight.
She doesn't argue with the doctors; she just does everything she's told (or she tries to) - and she never questions whether one Dr's advice goes with or conflicts with the others. Even when the results are obviously making her feel worse. It's time for me to swallow hard, interfere, and get everyone on the same page, I think. I don't think she's been specific with the Drs about the effects of all these drugs - and even though they've all got the same list - they're not aware that she doesn't feel like she can eat and I know she doesn't drink enough liquids. We went through a dehydration episode last fall.
What matters most to MIL - and to me, for her - is that she can maintain as much of her "normal" quality of life as possible. Since she showed improvement with her leg yesterday, I went out and got her one of those canes with 4 feet, that will stand up on it's own. After she demonstrated that she could get around by herself - and I of course, applauded - she's been able to regain some of her privacy and dignity. I want her to have her boundaries; her privacy and her dignity. But not at the risk of her not asking for help when she's in pain or not eating or mixing up one of these dozen medications. So I've got to risk making her mad at me today, because I'm going to push her GP to talk to the oncologist and see what meds we can drop out... to solve the nausea issue; I don't want him to add another pill to mix. Neither does she - but she won't tell him that.
Yesterday, I was thinking that I really have to face facts - whether she's ready to do that or not. Two days of physically assisting her - and not having a chance to rest or eat myself - just about did me in. Yeah, we got really good at walking together - teehee! - like in a potato sack race but I'm going to have a long soak in the tub for my sore muscles today. If she winds up becoming bed ridden and needing that level of long term care - I'm not up to it. Not without help. Hubby's noticed, too. I totally crashed yesterday afternoon and was snoring on the couch at 8:30. I'm going to have to plan ahead because this was just a heads up for what we'll have to deal with later on, maybe. I did remember that it's OK to take care of myself... to be able to provide care... but the opportunities for downtime were pretty scarce.
None of us have talked about the fact that a month after radiation effectively shrank the one tumor that caused her voice to fade away to a hoarse whisper... that she developed a recurrance in the lung that was partially removed and in the other previously healthy one. We seem to be operating in a parallel universe of denial that this maintenance drug will somehow "cure" the cancer and that she's going to live forever. Each of us, in our own way. If anything, MIL is the one most in touch with the reality that she's not going to "get well" and I expect she's going to start directing the rest of us, with more urgency soon. She has some things on her to-do list that she wants to oversee - even if it at a distance - and while this new drug buys her some time to do that, the rest of the family has to understand that none of us knows exactly how much time that is. I'm hoping to delegate bringing this message to the sibs to hubby - 'coz I just don't feel comfortable being the one to say this and asking them to step up to the plate and help out with what their mom wants.
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Hops & Lighter - thank you. The inner "twit" is being good right now... and is trying help out. She's the one with the sword & the horse who thinks she's invincible - even after all we've been through. We've been giggling over the fantasy of MIL & her 92 yr old best friend racing walkers up and down our long hallway. And also letting the pressure escape through drippy eyes... and she's finally hearing me say that it's OK to cry even when you don't know what you're crying about or who's around. That's a freedom she wasn't allowed - would've made mom look bad, you know? Why is that kid crying all the time? Silently?
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Oh, boy. You are really steering into the storm but like a confident sailor who knows your boat.
I know you'll get through this and be okay, Amber, but ... wow.
Fwiw, I really did NOT know what a toll it would take. My eldercare lasted 10 years. It ended
two years ago and I am still trying to rebuild my health. The logistics of finding, arranging, scheduling, paying for a few hours of help were daunting too.
I applaud your pro-active thinking about this and urge you to press on the accelerator with a plan for daily assistance.
It's really important it not fall only on you, or even you and hubby. Imo, anyway.
As awkward as may be emotionally for you both, your MIL can accept paid help, not just
yours. And in a way, a few hours/day of a kind person who'd like some hourly income
and can serve as an "outside" presence for her can be a relief to her too. My mother
benefitted a great deal from my main helper (who happened to be a smart, competent,
enormously decent person). They had their own bond. And psychologically, it kept her in
the world to have some interaction with NON-family, too.
Have you talked to Hospice? Getting a jump on this--even without discussing it with MIL yet--
would be extremely helpful to you. If there's no formal Hospice program there, there is likely
a villagey network of people who know part-time nurses or such who know how to tend those
at the close of life.
The thing I was always stunned by was that nobody ever really talked about the physicality
of elder caregiving. I finally told a friend it was like having (in her case) a 160 pound two-year-old
who kept regressing. By the time she couldn't manage her own safety (walking safely, getting
up and down)...the toll on my back was permanent. It was an arduous physical marathon and
had I known how crushing the stress would become I would have made a better plan.
But I was so involved emotionally in doing a good job, helping, being a good daughter, being
focused on her emotional and physical well-being that I lacked the detached view of the situation.
Now, from hindsight, I can only urge you to let your warrior off her horse and remember that
this is never, ever going to be perfect. It's already good because of where your heart is, and it's
hard because she's losing life and you're losing her. But it's good. You will look back one day and
know you have done such an honorable thing.
Just don't do it by yourself. Awkwardness is okay but having a permanently damaged back or
adrenal exhaustion is not.
I so so so hope there is Hospice there. They are wonder workers. Yet even with their help, you
will still need practical support.
Time to line up a team. A schedule. MIL will understand it's for her good.
You are SO smart to recognize she's over-medicated. It amazes me how seldom doctors make
thoughtful reviews of Rx and put them in perspective.
I hope she regains enough appetite to just enjoy whatever tastes bring her pleasure.
xo
Hops
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Awwww, Amber.
The inner twig's crying bc she has tears to shed. I hope she can do it out loud, and have done with.
About your beloved, sensitive, caring, independant MIL.....
I love that you're mindfully invested in sustaining her privacy, and dignity.
Somehow, I don't think anything else you do, could help as much.
What a nice nice lady..... I'm so glad you have each other.
I'm with Hops regarding Hospice. I wish I'd called them in sooner when someone I love passed with cancer.
If the docs try to give MIL a drug for nausea, beware. It causes constipation, which leads to more drugs and so it goes.
Sitting down with the doc who seems most invested, and going over meds, is very wise.
I remember there were drugs prescribed that would have been deadly given in tandem, had the Pharmacist not caught it.
Time to go over all of them with a fine tooth combe.
Rest.
Make a good plan.
Let hubby deal with his family, you have enough on your own plate, as you know.
Help your MIL take care of her to-do list.
Let her know how much you love her.
It'll be OK.
Whether your mounted on your horse, in full battle gear, or snuggled in cotton with MIL close by the fire.
Lighter
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Saw her GP for another coumadin test today. It's getting closer to normal... but we can't be sure what kicked it out of whack. One of the side effects of her cancer drug, is a rash which is a good thing - indicates the drug is working. But it kind got out of hand, and I'm seeing other signs of autoimmune hyperactivity. That doc put her on tetracycline, to relieve the itch. So, GP says we'd better cut down to 1 t'cycline a day until Wed, when we see the cancer doc again. And get his take on what caused the surge in coumadin toxicity... and what to do next. He said it could be the cancer drug or the antibiotic causing her nausea and not feeling able to eat. They - and the hospital - are all located in the same building and have access to the same med records and know each other.
I have to say - compared to the medical system where we used to live - things here in OBX are way better. Patients are treated like real people; no one's diss'd me in my role as caretaker (and advocate); in fact they've been real supportive and helpful. That in itself is a huge relief. Hubs & I have decided we'll wait until we see the cancer doc next week before talking to the rest of the sibs. She seems to be caught between a rock & hard place - the drug needed to counter cancer possibly causing the no eating (which is the worst thing she can do with the palette of pills she takes every day). We know it's possible they could have her not take the cancer drug for a week, then restart... and perhaps the dosage could be adjusted... and then all will "right" itself....................
until the NEXT thing goes wrong. So I hear you about Hospice. Yes, there is a group here. And also a cancer support center - for patients and caretakers alike. I have that info, so don't have to look far. Hubby and I talked after getting back. I think that unless they can solve this autoimmune over-reaction... she's basically looking at end of life. Not to put too fine a point on it - the Twigs on the horse knows that this is the "end of story" for MIL... and that it's just a matter of time the amount of which no one can predict. I saw this with my Dad, too. Increased frequency of pneumonia was a sign I couldn't ignore.
SIGH - SO. This incident happened to occur while I was recovering from a nasty cold and Hubs was in the throws of it. Absolutely only essential things have been getting done around here. Yeah, I'll be better in another week - but I still can't physically do all this, because I haven't had the training. My 5'2" DIL is a trauma flight nurse (helicopters) - and she knows how and she still complains about her back hurting. Clint Eastwood's - "A man's gotta know his limitations" - is one of my mantras.
It's the LETTING GO that's the hardest; of being the "responsible one"; of "helping"; "fixing things"... gee, don't that sound familiar?
So, I'll breathe my way into another day... and see what news that day brings. I kinda hoped we'd have a couple of years to go do things she wanted to do... have her show me her home stomping grounds. But my other mantra is: you can't always get what you want; but sometimes you [still] get what you need.
Thankfully, all of the sibs care a great deal for Mom and only want what is best for her. My fingers are crossed that this will carry everyone through some the difficult times that are still out there, to be dealt with. I keep remembering something my T said about my dad - that sometimes people just decide that they're ready to die and what anyone else wants or thinks is a violation of a major boundary. I think I got that; hope I can walk it. I was able to talk to MIL today about what I was worried about; what I hoped the docs could tell us; that I'm trying to "fix" her leg so it won't hurt anymore... and why I was worried about her not eating. I think she's now looking for a way to tell me to let go.... but I'll keep listening. She's not shy. And she knows she doesn't need to tiptoe around me.
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Hi PR,
You might also look into a geriatric specialist. Even a consult might help even out the situation....they specialize in the very issues you are writing about, much more than a GP does. They specifically LOOK for drug interactions and over medication and find ways to make them work together better. They also deal with the balance of independence/dependence in older patients.
I think Hops is right--a team is what you you need and maybe that speciality will be an important part of the team.
Good luck.
CB
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Yep, I wish there were such a specialist here CB.
There are doctors and nurses in hubby's family. I've been able to bounce things off of them, as I go through my troubleshooting mental routines - for what I might be missing, not know about, or even simple validation. I have a close friend who's worked in nursing homes for years and has a lot of practical experience. And the doctors & hospital here do work in that team cooperation technique, I'm happy to say. And I've done a lot project mgmt, so I know how to coordinate all these resources.
And even with all of that on the positive side, I'm willing to say that there might be a better way than my cobbled together, DIY approach.
I think why I'm posting about this here, is that the experience touches a lot of different places in my collection of "issues" about moms: my attachment issues, over-responsibility<->guilt, the disconnect between thinking and feeling (and the healing of that disconnect) and that letting go I mentioned last night. And it also touches on the self-destructive instincts I have - the "throw myself under the bus" phenomenon. There's been a sort of an earthquake in that... a radical change that I can't quite see yet.
In this situation, there are some very clear boundaries that I'm aware of. In the past, I would completely disregard those in my charge to ride to the rescue... then of course, feel horrible about how I'd screwed up. Myself, I would never even comtemplate asking for help in rescue - until I was incapacitated and needed as much help. I'm not doing that now. I went & dealt with the crisis - then stopped to take care of myself.
There is way more that is changed about that response than I have time, right now, to think about. And in some way I can't see - only feel - I know it's directly connected to, if not responsible for that self-destructive reaction, reflex or instinct.
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Amber:
Having some experience with your situation, I want to say.....
it might be time stop the cancer drugs, and let your MIL enjoy the rest of her days to the best of her ability.
If she can eat and take care of her to do list.... her last days could be more comfortable.
I know my Bill wished he'd skipped the chemo. It added more discomfort and symptoms..... fear.
Acceptance might be something your MIL's come to grips with.
Your coming to grips will help her too.
Not saying this is the case, just sharing what I learned when I went through this.
At the time, there was nothing that could have stopped me advocating for every available treatment or trial, be it Eastern or Western.
Looking back, I wished we'd have skipped the chemo too.
Lighter
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But I was so involved emotionally in doing a good job, helping, being a good daughter, being
focused on her emotional and physical well-being that I lacked the detached view of the situation.
Hops, this is where I struggle. Maybe I'm doing better than I think I am - since I don't have that inner achievement feedback system that evolves when a toddler. I know I have these perception issues, so I rely on hubby as my "second brain". That helps some, like while we were talking yesterday it dawned on me, that perhaps this is just an "initial reaction" to the cancer drug... and that of course, it's going to throw everything else for a loop... and that it'll take a little time and extra attention, but we just might be able to get it settled down to where she feels OK; maybe not great, but OK would be an improvement right now. [And maybe that's just the equine warrior amazon refusing to give up hope... but there is a shred of rationality in it.]
But simultaneously, even in the same breath, I'm able to recognize that what Lighter is saying is true. I'm not going to "win" this struggle. I'm not going to get a choice about "letting go". I don't have a right - that boundary - to put her through what I personally consider cruel & unusual punishment via the medical profession (tho I'll reiterate that her current team have been marvelous and sensitive and supportive). She talks plainly with me and her docs; she knows that one solution to her current dilemma is simply to die. She's told me that doesn't worry her. I know, from things she's said - but not in so many words - that she's looking forward to joining the husband she lost in '72; she's been faithful to him ever since... and she misses him. It's been a long time. I surely understand this, given what my journey has been like and finding the "missing piece" of myself and how hubby and I "fit" together.
But, whoa... there are some serious boundaries here! Makes my head swim to even think of it! I keep trying to put myself in her shoes... both the boys - hubby and his brother - are pretty matter of fact about her declining health. They know they don't have a choice, either. They are both very gentle, sensitive, caring guys... and ingenious about finding the "right" tone or solution to keep things positive. MIL's daughter is a real sweetie and she would very much like to trade places with me. However, the D also has 4 active boys all involved in sports, from 14 to 5 yrs old. D is simply not able to drop everything at a moment's notice, as the situation warrants sometimes to care for MIL. MIL knows this, but hasn't been able to persuade D so that she understands. D really isn't getting that she's going to have to learn to "let go"... without being so dependent on her mom, emotionally. I think it will all be OK, though. Despite my worries.
Since moving, I've had all my boundaries challenged hosting the sib's and their families. Some less immediate relatives have shown up impromptu to visit; as well as several of MIL's friends from "back home" who were here vacationing. It's been like "boot camp" for boundaries!! Where my boundaries were abnormally thick, high and reinforced from years of dealing with my crazy FOO... they've been crashed into, or dissolved or otherwise demonstrated to be completely unnecessary. Where I didn't have very strong boundaries in the past... those have been growing stronger; like "oak tree" strong. So many things I was self-conscious of... just don't even register anymore. One of those is simply "being" emotional around others. I'm getting lots of practice and no one is shunning me - au contraire.
And I've gotten acknowledgement and recognition from the rest of the family (even the doctors in the family) for what I'm taking on. I'm "included" - in the family. That is too huge (right now) for more words.
Somehow... through all this... I am also getting a sense that I'm re-assembling what was a "broken" heart; I can still give unconditionally of myself - and "nothing bad will happen", like with my bio-mom. I don't need armor and moats in this situation. And the weirdest part of all???? is that by re-weaving those heart-strings... and exercising those "muscles" again... the self-destructive reflex/response/pattern is fading away.
As if, in the native american tradition of "give away" - I'm also "getting" what I most needed.
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It's confusing when those heart strings are in the middle of a re-wiring, huh Amber?
But, nice to finally have them tied the right way.
((((Amber and family))))
Lighter
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LOL!
Confusing in a good way, Lighter! All new experiences - or seldom experienced experiences - are.
Being open to unpredictable results is sort of akin to releasing the outcome... and it's intentional, not just a drifty, floaty "whatever, man" laissez-faire.
[huh - the french is sure popping up a lot; that only happens when my brain is tweaked just so. I used to speak french like a native and was never able to explain that since I wasn't exposed to french as a kid. It's some Rbrain ability... and it's been really hard for me to think in french, lately; years actually.]
I'm definitely in "new territory" having these very close to hand, exposed, intense emotions - without them shutting down the rational part of my brain - or feeling as if I have to "protect" everyone from myself and those emotions. It's "weird" in a good way.
I"ve been describing some of my process as "learning how to surf life". I think I'm learning how to ride the waves of things happening in my life - with less fear, automatically assuming "it's all my fault", or that it's always my job to "fix things" to some impossible state of artificially imposed "perfection". Maybe - this is just one aspect of "letting go".
How would I know? LOL!!!!
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She's told me that doesn't worry her.
Ahhh, and there it is.
This is lovely. And I hope contagious.
D will learn what she has to learn, you don't have to help her face it.
You are doing wonderfully well, PR...I'm so happy to hear the moat is drying up.
You can plant blueberries in it.
Stay kind to Amber, okay? You really are safe in this.
More soon but it's late...did want to add though that in my past I was fluent in French too--acquired as a teen. Even majored in it. (Useless, but that was Impractical Choice #28734890509...)
xo
Hops
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The deer would just eat the blueberries, Hops... we have a herd that's "protected", so they have free run of everyone's yards to munch whatever seems attractive. I had to cage my hibiscus. Ya know I wondered why the previous owners had planted so many palms & tropical plants??? Deer don't eat them!!
I hope you're not depriving yourself of sleep on my account!
There is some bizarre intersection of the work I'm trying to do in this topic... and the experience and reflections and observations coming about with MIL. Almost a yin-yang relationship.... but I can't quite see it yet. In quiet moments, I start to feel that the whole picture is being arranged "behind the scenes" - in my unconscious?? - and that it'll soon be unveiled; completed; without my conscious input. That makes me kinda antsy... but in the end, I accept it for what it is.
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Two sides of the same coin??? Yin-Yang????
Yesterday was my birthday; my mom calls & goes on & on & on & on and barely remembers to ask how I am; how my kids are (well, she did forget one of them)... never any mention of my birthday. LOL!! You'd kinda expect a mom to remember there was something about the date, wouldn't you?
MIL gave me a card with a handwritten note that said I was a wonderful "mom" to her and that she loves me. [yeah - I'm still processing that one!! It took my breath away.]
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Along the lines of seeking the archetypal mother, is something easier: defining "maternal". What is that? I feel I've spent spent more than enough time on the criteria of "how not to be a good-enough mom" and the examples people post here just reinforce that. But what does a good mom consist of? How did I know how to do that well enough, that MIL can say this?
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update:
So Wed a.m. I went to see if MIL needed anything to get ready for cancer dr appt later that morning and I couldn't find her; no lights... and then I looked in the bathroom. She was barely conscious & barely breathing on the floor. 911 and a call upstairs to hubs to come down NOW (and no, I wasn't that polite!)... and rescue squad was there. Off to ER; 30 mins away for us - and I'm on the phone calling MIL's D to call the bro in Pa.
CT scan didn't find anything so they flew her to the closest large hospital for ICU. It's just over an hour to get there by car. At this point, the "troops" are thinking another stroke, which is clearly what it looks like... EXCEPT that over 24 hrs we know she has movement in all 4 limbs and can hear us & respond. She opened her eyes for the first time since I found her yesterday, while they were bathing her. They want to be sure she can swallow and clear her throat before removing the respirator, etc. so this is a good sign.
This is like the 3rd - 4th time since her stroke years ago, that something like this has happened; the other times, she snapped back after a few minutes and was lucid enough to call for help herself. All the things I've been reading in neuroscience came together in an idea yesterday morning... that what MIL has been calling "passing out" is really a seizure. Not with convulsions... but a drop attack kind of seizure. That would be consistent with the way MIL perceived it and tried to describe it. NONE of the med folks have investigated a neuro angle on these episodes - yet. I got the ball rolling yesterday.
Right now it seems as if she's far far far away... and doesn't really want to come back. I told the D Wed night, that I really worried that all the things being done to MIL to try to help her get well were, at the same time, making her really really miserable... and I didn't know how fair it was to put her through it. My friend, who's worked in nursing homes for years is here this weekend and helping to keep me grounded and enabling hubs & I to go to the hospital every day, even if we're not able to spend time with her. She's dogsitting, kinda. The kind of friend who's self-sufficient and is glad to help out any way she can.
Am facing the fact that IF and WHEN MIL is released from ICU, she is going to need 24 hr care now. And that perhaps the birthday card message was her way of saying goodbye to me... and reminding me to "mind my manners" and not protest, not stretch to find "solutions"... and to simply hug her and say goodbye back.
And so, my eyes are leaky and I can't find the shut off valve this morning. But it's only one of several possible endings to this story... and MIL is still writing that last chapter.
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oh Sweetie, thinking of you this morning...I am SOOO glad she has you.
CB
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(((((Amber)))))
Big hugs, warm thoughts...on continuous loop.
Peace, peace, peace...
A friend shared a paraphrase of a quote yesterday:
Peace of mind is not the absence of the experience of conflict, it is staying peaceful
within oneself in the midst of the experience of conflict.
I think the same could be said with stress or loss substituted for "conflict".
I hope she is off respirator and spared more such.
Does she have a DNR?
much love and comfort to you and her and her son and family--
She is so fortunate, and you too, I am so glad you've had this healing love.
Hops
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Peace of mind is not the absence of the experience of conflict, it is staying peaceful
within oneself in the midst of the experience of conflict.
Ain't it the truth? That's one thing that was never modelled for me in my FOO. Anything I've acquired in that realm, I had to learn the hard way - trial and error; doing it wrong... etc.
And while grief and loss aren't technically the same as conflict, damn if this doesn't apply to them also. At least in my "feral cat" self.
Thanks everyone for your comforting, reassuring thoughts and your practical suggestions. I'm fortunate to have a friend with me this weekend who's walked the N-tightrope with me at work, who has been a "caretaker" of others for quite some time, and who has been through this end of life phase with both patients and her own family. Having worked together, she knows how I can obsess and throw myself under the bus through over-responsibility (and boundary violations)... and how to drag me away from the problem. Her mini-vacation has turned into a series of days of "her turn to watch me"!! LOL. My brain's working in weird ways.
So, hubs & I stayed home yesterday and took care of a.) ourselves and some business here - and rested. I processed a lot with a niece of MILs who is half of a pair of doctors and with my friend... who is "one of us" here.
Well, not as much time right now to reflect here - but I am still chasing down the connection between self-abuse and attachment - or the lack thereof. This experience is providing a lot of opportunities to see myself - the feral cat me - and my story in another way.
OH - and GS! (If you have time to read all my blather...) I'm happy to hear that things are on the up & up with you.
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Amber:
So sorry to read your MIL had a fall.
Maybe a mini stroke? My Grandfather had so many, sometimes he'd be very active during, sometimes not.
Once he walked outside, and fell off the edge of the lake in 17degree weather, and lay on the bank.
He was in his underwear, carrying only a flashlight, poor dear. They found him before he froze to death, but he yanked out his catheter while in hospital, and that's another story.
Sounds like your MIL is supremely lucky to have you, and you're supremely lucky to have the friend who's guiding and keeping you grounded.
I'm praying for (((you and your family))) right now.
Lighter
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I might be scarce next week - lots to do and away from 'puter.
MIL had massive stroke. This is her second big stroke. I'm a little fuzzy on details coz we're all second-guessing each other, our selves, everyone wants to know the latest - so I'm in a TMI situation. Friend has kept me busy and distracted and away from 'puter where I'd just research until cross-eyed.
Worst case scenario is that when they remove the respirator, she won't be able to breathe w/o assistance and docs will insert trach & feeding tube instead - which everyone knows she would not want. But atm she is only minimally supported with respirator and is coughing, sneezing... clearing airway. So this might not be necessary.
There are increasing signs of potential for some recovery, however. It takes her longer to respond to changes in sedation - and they removed it yesterday to see how she'd do. She appears to be slowly coming "back" - on her own timetable regardless of medical expectations (HA!) - piece by piece. She is able to move her left arm some, now. I think we're all aware of "false hopes"... and so we're just taking each piece of news as it comes until tomorrow.
Tomorrow - we still don't know what time - we're expecting results of the eeg/ekg and the latest CT scan is hopeful: no bad changes since she was admitted. So we'll know what to expect as far as recovery - and what that quality of life might look like. I know without a doubt, that she is and probably remains ready to go join her hubby that she lost in '72. I know she would detest being fully dependent on long term care and/or life support - and all the kids know this too. She has no health directives - even after all she's been through, instead trusting everyone around her to make those decisions in her best interest.
She had stopped breathing or was close to it, in the ER here before she was transferred to the bigger hospital; she was close to that when I found her. It was me & hubby that decided yes to the respirator... because we knew it would be hours before the sibs could get here or to the big city hospital. At the time, we had no idea what had happened for sure - I only knew that this was extremely bad and that we needed real help. And we weren't going to make that decision by ourselves... I think MIL would understand that.
With stroke, even the tests aren't 100% reliable predictors of recovery. They perform a lot of practical trial & error experiments to see how the individual responds - how much soul, spirit, and will remains - and what preference of direction this indicates. Like stopping sedation and then trying to rouse the patient. I started calling her, as if waking her from a deep sleep a couple days ago. Apparently where she is must be pretty nice... you could tell she was reluctant to "come back"... but since then, she's started to be slightly more alert. I've not gone up the past two days - things to do here, caretakers also need caring for and I'm trying to be respectful of boundaries and let the sibs discuss among themselves w/o my input. Even hubby needed a "time out" from all this to rest and process on his own. We truly can't do much except wait --- and I'm so lousy at that anyway (MIL told me it seemed as if I just couldn't sit still - and I told her yes; I have to stay busy or I climb out of my skin with impatience so I work puzzle games on my DS while waiting) --- there don't need to be any more problems to solve or people to care for. So I'm assigning myself the homework of researching long term care... legal aspects... and acquiring some more info along those lines. So I won't be in the way emotionally, intellectually, or physically.
So, it's time for me to start doing again - what I can, and be useful.
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(((Amber)))
I hope your MIL is lucid enough to let you know what she'd want, re: DNR.
You can ask her and she can squeeze once for yes answers and twice for No's.
It's so heartbreaking to make those decisions, esp when you're not sure what your loved one would want.
I hope you're doing OK.
Lighter
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Hi Phoenix,
I finally got back. See the world didnt stop because I was doing other things!
I have read here and there, can see I obviously missed a lot of important events in your life. Hope things are at least peaceful with MIL now.
I read 2 of your posts on p.2, and I can see/ hear your journey of recovery. In comparison to many, I have had something inside me that just refused to get well/ or coudnt until it found the right thing, which it didnt. Its such a long story for me,
I have some sort of recovery now but not the reconcilliation that I longed for, I dont mean with specific individuals, but with the world. Im not 'that' recovered, in fact tonight due to various things in my life this evening, Ive got the feeling of inward plummeting, icicles through the heart, just vaguely, but its familiar, I know the feeling, will pass.
Wanted to respond to your response to the exlile site. I agree with what you said about the term 'schizoid'. It was the term used by the psychiatrise (Masterson), who was the one to define these 3 disorders and to clarify their differences. He first described borderline, then narcissist, then schizoid, and produced ways to treat also.
IMO its not so much a disorder of some individuals, but that nearly everyone is based on one or other of these dynamics, as is history and politics too.
What you've said all in all, as I see it is that these things/ forces inside us, you dont heal them by direct battle, but by growing the healthy side.
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Worst case scenario is that when they remove the respirator, she won't be able to breathe w/o assistance and docs will insert trach & feeding tube instead - which everyone knows she would not want.
I am so sorry. Is there no way the doctors will listen to what everyone knows she wouldn't want?
It's devastating to hear she has no Advance Medical Directive, Durable Power of Attorney for Health Care, nor DNR (Do Not Resuscitate) order in place.
A friend of mine, under the emotional stress of impeding loss, made a terrible decision re. a feeding tube. Her father had had a massive stroke and at some point, her naive mother expressed great distress at the idea of him "being hungry" so against a little voice chiming in her head, my friend okayed the insertion of a feeding tube. This strong man lived for SEVEN YEARS, completely paralysed, in bed. It destroyed several lives. He was NOT happy. Turns out, the ease of deciding to "add the tube" was instant--an easy piece of advice for doctors to give, and my friend wasn't at that moment clear enough to think it through. But legally, they could not decide to withdraw it later on when they had realized they'd doomed him to a horrible existence, or it would be murder.
They COULD have decided never to insert it in the first place. But once it was in, they could not change their minds. It was a terrible mistake. I often thought my friend would die before they did.
NOTE TO EVERYONE: These are easy and inexpensive documents to create and if you don't have them, create them right now! (You can go to NoloPress.com or legalzoom.com and do them yourselves for a pittance.) The DNR can be requested from your doctor if you're unwell and don't wish to be revived--it's just a one-page thing you post on the refrigerator in case an ambulance is likely to be called.
But the first two, Advance Medical Directive ("Living Will") AND a Durable Medical Power of Attorney are critical to have--for anyone at any age in life. Make sure your doctor has a copy and that another is filed with whoever you assign, and keep another copy filed in an obvious place at home.
I hope she can be spared a respirator again -- I will never forget a friend dying of lung cancer who was trapped on a respirator and managed to scrawl for me on a pad with her left hand (the right being encumbered by an IV needle): HELP ME.
No one could. The tools and machines and assumptions that life-prolonging technologies would be done to her body whether it made a rat's spit of sense or not were all in charge. It was all about legal issues and liability. Did not have ONE THING to do with what was best for her. She was tortured by them until her end.
I would say, do not try to awaken her. Do not rouse her. Do not try to make her breathe. Do not try to make her get well or "recover". Do not try to make her notice she is still alive. It is so HARD to die anyway and one needs to be allowed to do it. Coma is a blessing. Don't worry if she goes or not, just insist on good medication for pain and to ease the respiratory distress. Her body will stop in its own time if allowed to.
When someone with terminal cancer has had a stroke and can no longer breathe without assistance, this means that their body would like to stop breathing. Why doesn't medicine have common sense?
Morphine and sedation and palliative care are wonderful to ease the passage but nothing will stop it. These other aggressive interventions are mindless and pointless and there is no quality of life to look forward to. But decline and misery can be dragged out for a horribly long amount of time if there is too much intervention.
My mother was paralysed for 14 months in a nursing home after a stroke and for her sake, I wish she had NOT had long-term care, or had those miserable months in diapers. I wish the stroke had arrived with complications that would have helped her out quickly. As it was, she had to wait for infection number umpteen to finally, finally render her beyond medical "help".
The very last coherent thing she said to me was, "Honey, I'm so tired." Well, damn.
Courage and strength to stand up for her peace, Amber...and much comfort to you.
I hope all the family will have a pre-emptive, pro-active meeting with the doctors NOW to ensure that whatever unofficial DNR is legally permitted in these circumstances is entered in her record NOW.
My mother was with it enough to decide on the DNR for herself, so the EMTs asked her and her own doctor confirmed. But too many times, this decision is not made and the default is worse hell for the patient.
love (and forgive me the ranting, don't want to add to your stress--you are doing RIGHT by her and the very best anyone could ever possibly do...)
Hops
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And that question about stuff like 'the internal saboteur', is it part of me, or is it something from someone else? Gosh, its a paradoxical thing. On one hand its my impaired, undernourished real self, crying out for an ally. On the other hand, it really has felt like something directly from a force of evil, from a not me source, the voice of invitation to self destruct, and the reward is 'pleasure'. But pleasure as part of self-destruction, that feels about as close to an evil force as it gets. I struggled with this all my life, and never stopped looking for help. It arose from the implicit meaning, and ultimate conclusion of the hidden destruction in my FOO, and this arising from NM's unconscious stuff. I like the way Patricia Evans put it:
"their souls become the battle ground between good and evil"
Its something about implicit communication, about a trajectory. I have some recovery, but the truth is Im physically and mentally battered. I believe for me it was a lot of introject involved. As far as I can see, this is so under-recognised in psychology.
Which of the Schore books did you get so much from?
Good luck with your situation for now, anyway. I envy you for having deer wandering around, even tho it costs the gardening possibilities.
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ps, excuse intimely non-sequiteur from previus posts in the middle of this important and difficult time.
r.
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((((((((((((((((((((((PR)))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))
It's hard to find the right words as I've had to make similar decisions when NWomb-Donor took a turn for the worse. One decision that she DID take out of my hands was in regard to the feeding tube. She was lucid enough to authorize that. I was simply a witness to her authorization. (I caught HELL from the VULTURES who couldn't wait to go through all of her stuff...AGAIN! That's another story!)
I had the DNR, in writing, so when that time came for her, I was able to pull it out and show it to the attending physicians. Without that legal document, the physicians have no choice but to take heroic measures until the last breath.
Been there, done that, NOT fun!
(((((((((((((((((((((((((((PR))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))
Bones
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THANK YOU! EVERYONE!
Hops & I share the same opinions and feelings on this topic. I had to made a snap decision and get hubs' agreement quickly - because I knew D & Bro would want some time with her... and we literally did not know, nor could this hospital tell us, what had happened. I guess the massive rbrain stroke showed on their CT scan, tho - the ER nurse said she was being transferred because OBX doesn't have an ICU. They just didn't want to be the ones to tell us, is closer to the truth.
Big city hospital doc told trauma nurse daughter in law, that there really wasn't any point in going over eeg results; the stroke was that massive. And it took some time for the reality of the situation to sink in - even for me. I was pretty obsessed with trying to find cause & "fix" - and my friend pulled me away from it, because there wasn't a fix and the info I'd given her told her (from her experience with the elderly) that MIL was ready to go... and we were only prolonging her process for our own reasons. The ocean - which I haven't spent much time with since moving here - helped a great deal. It took 4 days, but eventually we found her living will (it's a DNR) and everyone got on the same page about finally stopping the misery for MIL. Morphine started around noon; tubes out at 1 pm. My animals knew this morning. I'd just started to sleep good, when the old puppy had a coughing fit and woke me at 4. Then the kitties started up. And within minutes phones were ringing and texts coming in. I just got up and made more coffee. She passed shortly after 5 am. Like I'd told one of the family's doctors, I'd noticed that MIL's brain sort of "let loose"; let go; all the connections expanded and separated during the night... and that this is what I expected for her, in her experience. It was as gentle as we could hope for her. I'd had my DIL bring up an afghan that belonged to MIL's mama; it was hers... and MIL stroked it and held it through the night. I told MIL what color it was and where it came from, so she would know what I brought her. And I told her it was OK - she was in charge now. To rest. And truly, without the life support she did immediately appear more comfortable, at peace, happy that we were finally getting out of her way. Hubby and I weren't there. Exhaustion was going to put me in the room next to her - and hubs has done this with all the rest of his immediate family. We didn't want to the reason she might worry or caretake.
Instead, we talked about grief. Processing grief. What it looks like - and why I have issues surrounding this. And we are grieving, together - which is a new thing for both of us. And, in hubby's words, moving on. Where was he all those years ago when I didn't know how to do this, no one was there to teach me, and in fact - my grief probably triggered the worst of the mom-abuse I experienced?
Well. It's never too late. And I remembered what I'd stumbled on so many years ago when I was immersed in misery, too: the intensity of our grief equals the intensity of our caring; our love... it's really just two different ways of looking at exactly the same thing.
I'll be back. I've got to rest. My nerves are all jumpy; muscles achy; it's been a weeklong blur of long nights and early mornings.
And river - we'll start comparing notes on the original topic!! I've been picking up small puzzle pieces this past week which fit into this topic. Glad you're back.
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Oh, Amber.
I am so very sorry for this loss.
I so wish you could have had her for longer, but what a blessing to her you were, and what a blessing to you she was...
Much love to you, and gentleness in your grieving.
You will roll in the surf but you will not sink.
much much love,
Hops
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So sorry for your loss, PR. I hope you can get some rest.
Lollie.
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I'm so sorry, PR. She was very lucky to have you...
Best wishes,
Richard
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I'm sorry this hurts so much, (((Amber.)))
Please know that your MIL is at peace.
No more pain.
No more fear.
Lighter
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I am so sorry for your loss PR.
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(((((((((((((((((((((PR)))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))
Bones
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thank you thank you thank you..... THANK YOU
I thought perhaps that my SOS posts about MIL didn't really belong in this thread. But now, I'm convinced that they do and that contained in my relationship with MIL is the key to what I set out to do with this thread.
How many times have I said it? Everything I was told about myself by my mom was WRONG? Everything she accused me of... blamed me for... made me responsible for..... every little thing she said I was.... was distorted, off the mark, inaccurate, and was more about HER - than me.
But kids don't know this. I didn't know it. She was my mom - surely, if there was anyone I could trust it would be her, right? And she kept us so isolated in her agoraphobic, paranoid, "they're not like us and are out to get us" bubble that when I did come in contact with "normal" people I didn't grant any validity to their feedback about me. Dump some real, violent trauma on top of that and wow - it's no wonder I always second-guessed myself, had zip confidence in my perception, judgement, put myself down & last on the list to care for... and always felt "broken"... inept, klutzy, ugly, awkward, dumb, naive, selfish.... ad nauseum.
It was some bizarr-o illusion that she created and persuaded me to believe about myself. And when I did believe and ran into real evidence that was contrary to the criteria of the illusion I had an unresolvable "problem" of cognitive dissonance. And this is what my real "split" was - the exiled self I put carefully away into Twiggy's chinese box. The inconsolably grieving self who kept wondering "who" this woman was who said she was my mother - and didn't act like it a bit. The self that my mom said didn't exist; the self that couldn't do anything "right" or "good enough" - - - - - - - for her.
It was a rational act (supplied with immense emotional energy) to punish myself, in light of that. A rationalization.
The rationalization goes like this:
I must be deformed - intellectually, emotionally, physically - I am a reject; morally corrupt; therefore, I am BAD. It's only some accident that I even exist. I am not worthy to interact like a person of good sense, judgement and caring with "normal" people. Because other people can't tell this about me (based on the cognitive dissonance experiences) I've got to have some way to signal to them that I am bad. Like a scarlet letter; a visible sign to avoid me - stay away - save yourselves.
Back in the day - "bad" kids smoked. Their "badge" of cool dishonor. They still do.
At a more primal level, the rationalization was fueled with real unaddressed, unacknowledged needs - a whole list of them. And so I looked for something to assuage the needs - a pacifier or substitute. Like even something as basic as "I am real and I exist". Interesting to freudians, that I would choose some oral fixation like this, I'm sure...... but that points directly at the "search for the archetypal mother" and the flashing neon arrows pointing at it make it unmistakeable.
Smokers are masters of rationalization. OH MAN... that was a boring meeting.... I need: a cigarette.
Always the thought is: I need and the answer is always a cigarette.
Sure, some of that is physical addiction and the discomfort that comes from depriving oneself of the substance. Ironically, the times I have quit temporarily, I have fewer physical withdrawal symptoms than many people complain of and a shorter duration. Instead - I deal with (mis?)perceived unfilled "needs" of a more emotional, attachment (connection) nature. And because of the nature of those unfilled needs... and the original symbolism/stigma of the first cigarettes... the ONLY way I felt I could fill those needs was with a cigarette. To not smoke would be to fundamentally alter - change - who and what I am. My SELF. My identity.
To not smoke, would mean to let go of all the pieces of pain incorporated into the illusion of Amber that my mother created and force fed into me and let change happen. Organically. "Not doing" is a different process than "doing". Not doing inherently implies a lack of effort, energy... no struggle... a "giving up".... and into that new void, fill the real needs behind the pantomine of "I need a cigarette".
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The past 3-4 weeks have been incredible. Immensely physically exhausting. Immensely emotional. Intellectually frustrating. A whole huge fiery indigestible furrball of life. A perfect storm is how someone described MIL's last month. And really simple and elegant, from MIL's perspective. There wasn't anything to understand or figure out or fix, for her. She was "going home" one last time and bid farewell surrounded in love to the love that was waiting for her.
I've only known her 10 years. And I was extremely wary, initially. Reserved. Keeping my distance. Formal.... coz of all the mom issues. That gradually changed with extremely small interactions... she liked the way I arranged a bouquet of flowers for her 80th birthday party. She brushed hair out of my eyes one day and said my new hairdo was pretty - or stroked my ponytail when I had it long and down my back. She picked strings & lint off my clothes and straightened pieces that came askew as we got ready for parties, weddings, or travelling together. When my dad died and I returned to the beach to rejoin my vacation I vowed to polish off the open bottle of champagne that we'd planned to finish on vacation on the last night. When I tried to dish up ice cream and couldn't - and didn't ask for help - she came out and took the scoop out of my hands and did it for me without a word about the champagne. I ended up pouring the rest out.
She was not the kind of mother I had. Just about opposite, really. And I never really told her my "story". Just bits and pieces... and most of them current. The whole birthday thing that happened 2 days before her stroke meant that we both understood about my mom; what I've been recovering from all these 40 years and I had the chance to tell her what a great mom she was, too. In that short few minutes I found the "archetypal mother" - caring for and being cared for. I told her we were "even".
So the whole idea of self-abuse patterns; the "split" between me and Twiggy; smoking - and the overwhelming need behind it - is POOF! Just like that. How silly to think that a habit was necessary for identity!
She had to accept the changes her body was forcing on her; "nothing to do about it" was how she looked at it. And changes are a good thing, in the long run. She gave up the home she lived in for 50 years, to accept the changes in need for care she was faced with and remained the most positive person of all of us, throughout. And it was a "cure" for me, of sorts. An understanding that through caring, love and giving... we also gain the same. Maybe not with my mom or brother - but with so many other people in the world who "get this" - why worry myself over those two? Trying to prove them wrong? Or vindicate myself?
Too many more other things to do. Too many more "present moments" to be part of.
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Just now learning about your MIL. As is so often the case when I read your posts, I am imprisoned between having so much to say and feeling powerless to say what is in my heart, to say anything meaningful.
As I read the last two pages of posts on this thread what I did think was that I heard how lucky you felt to have her. That must make the mourning more difficult but it also plays a role in the healing to come and not just healing of grieving her loss, but HEALING.
I am thinking of you PR. As bare as this post is - it is heart deep in care and concern and giving. - your friend even though we have neverr met, your real friend - GS
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Magnificently moving.
PR, I'm going to remove that "Place for PR" thread as you're feeling good about the MIL material fitting just right here. Awkward idea anyway.
I don't know how a person could produce more insight...but even or especially with this event in your life, you amaze me with how deep yours are and how MANY you have.
It's as though for you grief and growth are literally simultaneous...and you articulate it. Don't know if you realize how powerful an example and inspiration you are.
I am a grateful listener and friend.
love,
Hops
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I just so appreciate having you all feedback what I myself can't see - coz I'm on the inside looking out. And the most fabulous thing about the board... is watching how everyone is learning about, entering into, and becoming black belt masters of emotions. I guess that does include me. I love every one of youse guys, even if we have had disagreements!
Today's little gem for me, is that what I feel re: MIL is simple, pure sadness that she's gone. It's not mixed up with pain; not like the grief processed from the past, which is blenderized up with a bunch of other intense emotions. Instead, it's sadness mixed with echoes of love; those little things that passed between us... the things that made MIL her SELF... the things that mattered to her.
I still don't feel as if I have a valid "claim" to MIL - that her children come first. But I have been clear, that what passed between her and I is extremely special and that I'm now the caretaker of that. We never made a contract or agreement in so many words, but I was able to convey to her that I accepted the role of mothering her and being there for her - no matter what - as she made this particular passage in her life. So when she gave me the birthday card, with her message, I almost bawled right then & there; the simple message wiped out, erased, negated - made as if it had never happened - all the stuff that I've struggled with here, in therapy, and in all those journals.
What I'm caretaking for her, is the part of Twiggy that was broken & shattered - and that I couldn't reach into past all the wounds. The little girl who was such a good mommy to her dolls... and who stepped up to try to take care of brother... and then mother... when it became obvious that there was no one else. The part that needed a mommy, desperately - and kept losing them. All MIL did was say "Thank You".
Before Mike & I left the hospital that last night (I was about to go face down on the floor, I was so tired) I told all the kids: she's in charge again, now. All we can do now is take care of ourselves and each other. [I don't know where that stuff comes from; maybe Twiggy? It's almost as if it's a different voice; as if I'm channelling something... like a medium.] And that is what is happening now.
Mike is taking over some of the ways his mom reached out to and cared about others; his brother describes his state as "surreal" - a state I can relate to from past experiences - but he is also organizing materials and info for the tributes still to be arranged - and D is doing something I call - sticking pins in your eye. It's a way to desensitize oneself emotionally, by deliberately invoking pain - OH GEE; just realized that's exactly the motivation behind all the various forms of self-abuse. I'll have to come back to that.
I've always thought that the tradition of sitting shiva or irish wakes needed to be mainstreamed, as a way to process grief and let it go. Protestant christianity seems to kick everyone out of the circle of compassion just at the moment that the reality of death is really setting in. In this case, MIL left specific instructions according to what she lived: no fuss, don't worry about me, don't make a big deal out of this. There will be no funeral; she's chosen to be cremated and she'll join her beloved husband at his gravesite. However!
She touched so many lives - in both small and huge ways - in two states, no less - that there will be two celebration of life services. And those won't take place for a few weeks yet. Which I think is a good thing for the family, even though D wants to "get this over with, and get to closure". It doesn't always work that way, as I know for a fact; so I'm going to call her today and see how she's doing and kind of talk her through some things. It's sorta my job now... and MIL will remind me, if I don't! :D
... sticking pins in your eye. It's a way to desensitize oneself emotionally, by deliberately invoking pain ...
So, I guess whether it's eating unconsciously, smoking, cutting, or deliberately invoking grief and sadness... all of these things are ways to get a strong emotion outside of oneself - to "not feel" it. For whatever reason. In my case, feeling the grief of all my losses to self, was intensely overpowering and affected my ability to function. At least, if I took them all at one time! Worse - while I knew I needed to do this - I was specifically punished for it; and the message was: your feelings are hurting me - so stop it. So I learned to hide my feelings; withdraw completely from everyone to "feel" - and to actively protect other people from my feelings. In other words, to be ashamed and humiliated of being an emotional soul. And then I never learned how to express emotions "appropriately"... whatever the fashions, traditions, etc of the day were.
Ah! but on the other side of a cigarette... with the smoke swirling up between me and the rest of world... I could feel my feelings, without "giving away" what they were. Hiding in plain sight. At least, that's what I believed! LOL!!! In reality, my feelings are wide open vulnerable, in that I express them facially and with every bit of my body - easy to read - and especially! with my gestures while smoking.
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(((PR))) You're thoughts, and journey, are so interesting/insightful: )
Hops.... when you said PR will roll around in the surf, but survive, that seemed so right.
I have the feeling we're completely underwater, emotionally stuck and not breathing..... struggling, at times.
So darned painful.
Other times we're rolling around in the surf, getting scraped up.
Then there are times we get to walk along the shore, soaking up the sun, thinking about what we want to do. Swim? Surf? Keep walking? Brave the surf?
Still, other times we're gliding across the water, sluicing over the waves, moving fast, and sometimes we surf!
So exciting, full of exhilaration and it always lasts such a short time.....
then it seems we're usually back rolling in the surf, trying to surface, getting our legs back under us.... climbing onto the beach and......
looking for our boards again.
Right now, I think your getting your legs under you PR....
and heading to the beach.
Lighter
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LOL Lighter!!
The past couple of years have been back to back & overlapping changes so fast & furious, that I coined a phrase based on this image of surfing...
I'm learning to surf life. A little late, but who cares?
I don't know where I am in the process; it doesn't matter. I know I have to give time to myself - to cry and be sad; to be efficient and plan ahead for next steps; to just be; to appreciate the gorgeous weather here even this time of year; to write & pull my thoughts together into something coherent; something with meaning; to be with and do what hubby wants to do; to pick up the pieces of things I was working on when I dropped everything & called 911...
I am just fine. Hubby's doing pretty good too. We had 8 months of MIL's tutoring about going through this. We're adjusting at a comfortable pace, in our own ways. Together. And we'll keep everyone else grounded going forward, too.
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Oh, PR,
Thinking of you today. Amongst all the many details, many emotions, memories...you must feel almost surreal.
I am deeply touched by how articulate you are in all this...what you are sharing is of such help to me. The clarity is wonderful. I was so unclear when my mother died...never really processed everything, mostly it was just over and there was some relief because she was very difficult.
But there was never the immediate answers that you seem to be accessing. I am so, so grateful that you are having this healing time.
CB
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D is doing something I call - sticking pins in your eye. It's a way to desensitize oneself emotionally, by deliberately invoking pain - OH GEE; just realized that's exactly the motivation behind all the various forms of self-abuse. I'll have to come back to that.
{ineffible reation to concept that leaps out to me}
So, I guess whether it's eating unconsciously, smoking, cutting, or deliberately invoking grief and sadness... all of these things are ways to get a strong emotion outside of oneself - to "not feel" it. For whatever reason. In my case, feeling the grief of all my losses to self, was intensely overpowering and affected my ability to function. At least, if I took them all at one time! Worse - while I knew I needed to do this - I was specifically punished for it; and the message was: your feelings are hurting me - so stop it. So I learned to hide my feelings; withdraw completely from everyone to "feel" - and to actively protect other people from my feelings. In other words, to be ashamed and humiliated of being an emotional soul. And then I never learned how to express emotions "appropriately"... whatever the fashions, traditions, etc of the day were.
As I read this, trying to process deep understanding of human struggle, I am sitting outside of a bagel shop where there are crowds of tween and teen girls sitting talking/screaming and bands of tween and teen boys roving. I have actually asked them to stop screaming, reminding them that they are not the only ones sitting here. But I am transported back to that age which for me was not one of exclusion but none-the-less an age that when bands of girls whom I did not know or did not care to be a part of behaved in a similar manner I found it disgusting and appalling. As I read this extraordinary stuff about how we deal with pain subsconsciously, unconsciously when the pain is simply too much and blended from so many sources. The arrogance, the lack of consideration, the solipcistic, self-important sense of oneself as an included, struggling teen actually never, ever seems to leave most and travels along into adulthood emerging is similarly sinister behaviors.
So longing to come back to this, hoping life in its twists and turns will allow it. Thank you so much PR for doing this right here in a way that I and others might pick up threads and unravel them in our own lives. It evokes strong feelings of belonging and thanksgiving.
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Yeah, I know exactly what you mean GS!!
I'll be coming back to this time & again for a bit, as I work through it too. I think I just said something - off the top of my head - that's pivotal to this whole topic.
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So, here's what I've got. It's not "coherent" yet - just a set of (not so) random thoughts, feelings & connections:
hiding in plain sight = a duality of self; not quite "split" in two - not quite whole
one self = unacceptable being; emotional & intellectual integrated; wounded - i.e., an inflicted injury both emotional & functional; yet this self still the source of empathy, compassion, maternal instinct, love
"other" self = chain mail armor; defensive in the extreme; a frankenstein of defenses combined with negative self-identity and projections/illusions from mom; empty and worthless yet always striving for approval/acceptance - perfectionism
self-defeating/destructive habits = smoking, shooting myself in the foot, not trusting myself --> prevents making a solid committment to myself & constructive change (the weasel effect of changing my mind; giving up in the face of a challenge; "poor me" self-pity; and the ever-famous words "I CAN'T"...***)
self-abuse as only mechanism of "approval/acceptibility" to good old mom
MIL's thank you = her non-shrinking from me or some of my stories - she just shook her head, after giving me the card, when I told her my mom didn't even remember that that day was my birthday. "Nothing to be done about", she would've said.
"nothing to be done about it" = not necessary to continue abusing myself for approval/acceptance/acknowledgement that I'll never get; it's the beating head on brick wall syndrome... and I'm sure in some perverse way, provides some satisfaction and getting emotion out - for my mom.
The deal with these projections - I've described this before as feeling like a marionette and she's pulling my strings - is that I get suckered into acting out the parts of HER that she can't look at; doesn't like; scare her; and will deny exists. "Other self" in other words. NOT ME. It seems like a very long time ago that I sorted all this out, the first time.
But this: not trusting myself --> prevents making a solid committment to myself & constructive change (the weasel effect of changing my mind; giving up in the face of a challenge; "poor me" self-pity; and the ever-famous words "I CAN'T"
This, I put off dealing with when I was sorting out the ME/NOT ME stuff. "Me" seriously thought that this was as much a part of "me" as my freckles. But when I see it in print - ok, cyberprint - it's NOT ME stuff; it is my mom - then and even more so, now. Coz I have a feeling y'all will tell me I'm not the "giving up" kind of person after reading/watching my whole process unravel here, a bit at a time. I sure as hell wasn't giving up trying to find a way to help MIL either... and was resisting the idea that it was her time to go and that this is what she wanted. That was "attachment"... and it was a good attachment, not the negative kind.
Therefore, the "facts" seem to indicate that I'm not permanently warped or disfigured or stuck in an endless cycle of self-abuse or getting suckered into these kinds of pointless, one-sided head games, where I always get hurt.
I just didn't know it.
And nothing bad will happen, if I simply step to the other side of the line... step out of the way of the bus I'm always throwing myself under. Nothing bad will happen if I simply forget to smoke... or if I remind myself not to... if I stop using a substitute pacifier for what I really need... there's no need to protect anyone from my emotions [eiiiyahhhh! that's just stupid]... what I feel can't hurt anyone else... and I don't have to kill myself to prove that I'm a nice normal person who just wants to love & be loved.
PHEW.
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CB,
the clarity you're seeing is a contrast - black & white; good & bad. That extreme, I guess. Many many people are commenting on how much MIL gave; how she cared for them just like their own mom. She didn't know how to be any other way and truly did not understand "people like that". She was creator of peace, love and happiness where ever she went. So it was that much more awful to watch her sink into misery; feeling so physically awful and to be helpless to know what to do for her.
In the end, letting her go was the right thing to do for her. And it was done out of love for her.
Contrasted with my past & current experience with my mom?? With all the moms who could populate a "wall of shame" and never even admit they did anything wrong? Or apologize? or say thank you for all the ways we tried to please them?????
Yeah, it's pretty clear to me right now. Even in the midst of sadness at missing MIL, of all the things we have to do and all the times I have tell someone, she died Tuesday.... in the midst of all of that, I am still trying to save myself and the rest of my life. And I want to make sure I carry on what MIL was famous for - being a great mom.
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And what greater legacy could she leave than that?!
That's wonderful, PR. If I died tomorrow, I would want to know that I had touched someone the way MI has touched you....that you feel changed and empowered by your relationship with her.
I am glad that of all the mothers in law in the world that you could have had, that you had her.
CB
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CB, thanks. As I go through the process of trying to comfort my SIL, I need to remember this. That we've all been blessed with the benefits bestowed by the essence of "mother" and we - as a world - need to perpetuate this:
that no matter what happened or why we "are" the way we "are" - that we are loved JUST the way we are.
And in that same way - dealing with my feral cat inner child and mothering her - instead of trying to force her into something she's just not ready for, or fears greatly... to encourage her with love to keep practicing, to do the best she can - and celebrate each small step of progress, no matter how small - and reiterate over & over, as many times as needed, that I know she can do it.
It is precisely the habit of demanding too much from myself; the impossible even; and not cutting myself a break that is at the core of the ongoing cycle of these old, hangover patterns of perpetual cycling through need - want - denial - substitution/pacifying - and this is what always sabotages my self. This is the self-abuse behind all the overt symptoms. I need to just stop this - but even that seems part of the cycle. Once upon a time, I did not do this to myself and I don't know how to find my way back to that. At the moment. And yet, I can see that I'm closer than I used to be. HUH. I don't know how that happened, either.
I slept long, last night. But half conscious of the dreams. They were full of effort, torturous, not restful - and still not to the part of my brain that can remember anything about them. Some part of me is really struggling to achieve something right now and I don't have a clue what it is. But I think I'm OK with that. I do remember that some months ago, I dreamed about telling my T that I was ready; I wanted to "finish". So, here I am...
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GS,
I spent my time at those cafes at the farthest table, reading. Or desperately hoping the sparrow I was dropping crumbs to would look up and hop to my knee, knowing how peaceful I was. What a lonely mess. I remember a quailing heart and a fake, confident mask. I got through it but not without irony. (By late h.s., when I'd escaped the private girls' snobbery-torture academy, I found some peace. Enough kids at the public school were different &/or tolerant that I was no longer sole Odd Girl Out...)
To this day I trust sparrows more, though...
Sometimes, especially this season, I just want to say, Never Mind.
The loneliness can always come back.
love
Hops
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(((((((((((((PR))))))))))))))
we've all been blessed with the benefits bestowed by the essence of "mother" and we - as a world - need to perpetuate this:
that no matter what happened or why we "are" the way we "are" - that we are loved JUST the way we are.
Thank you, dear. I needed to read this just when you needed to say it.
This same conviction, may it surround you always, with gentle affection.
love,
Hops
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Hey GS...
You're part of THIS group - an important part that we care about. When we don't hear from you - we come lookin' for ya!!
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The deal with these projections - I've described this before as feeling like a marionette and she's pulling my strings - is that I get suckered into acting out the parts of HER that she can't look at; doesn't like; scare her; and will deny exists. "Other self" in other words. NOT ME. It seems like a very long time ago that I sorted all this out, the first time.
When I can catch myself right in the act then I might begin to find an alternative reaction. Maybe. It is their action and my reaction. It takes both parts to make the whole - not just them but my reaction as well. I'm seeing that today in my current situation. It is NOT just their action but their action coupled with my reaction that creates the yuck, the miasma, the qucksand.
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Hops and PR - I tell you, I carry you both in my heart and consult you two quite regularly. What I hear back is so much better than those other voices I began carrying so long ago. Thanks for coming looking.
Hops - here's an eerie tidbit. I'm sitting in an internet spot in a grocery store in NC where two sparrow looking birds are inside handing out. Let me try to download a phone photo. How wierdly synchronistic is that?
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You're right that it takes both bits - the action/reaction - to create the yuck. I've kinda tortured myself with the "which comes first, chicken or egg" analysis of that... and what I'm finding now, is that linear order doesn't matter, really.
I gotta go back to the idea I had a couple years ago to explain. Remember the conversation about mental/physical habits? About the 2 way street and nature abhoring a vacumn? Restating that, the "old voices" or initial action that provokes an unwanted defensive reaction... need to be replaced with SOMETHING ELSE; one can't just simply "let go" the old yuck or give it up or run away or shut it off - without putting something else in it's place. If there's nothing new and different to put into the space where the yuck used to be - unfortunately the laws of nature take over - and the "default" crap returns; I think it's like both entropy and persistence of radioactivity, at work here. This is what we struggle with, I think - in our own ways, trying to find new stuff to replace the old yuck.
And if you can replace - let's call it an old, invasive weed this time - with a new, pretty plant, it takes some time and nurturing for that new plant to be established. Practice - in terms of our habits, including the mental/emotional ones. How much time; how much nurturing; how much practice??? Those answers are unique to each individual and situation, methinks. And that's why I believe in tallying, counting, stating and celebrating even the most incremental progress over despair, kicking myself for not doing better, etc. or in anyway making it harder for myself to keep moving at whatever pace I can. Whatever pace I can progress is whatever pace is right for me, at the moment. (Despite what the old voices say!!)
After all - this part of me hasn't done this kind of "work" or been allowed to be this active in quite a while. She's stiff from being all folded up into her box... her eyes needed to adjust to the light... just standing up took effort and practice, before it felt "normal". It took long enough, as it was, to get her to stop being afraid. But that's how much time she needed to take. And that's what is happening - at glacial speed - is that slowly but surely, ever so subtly - change is happening; good change. It just needed a good long time to get the roots established before it was comfortable and secure enough to bloom...
So according to this experience I'm having - I would say that I am my own worst unintentional enemy, in that - I've recorded those old voices, those old feelings - both parts - in my photgraphic, emotional memory; and now all by myself I abuse myself (if I'm not carefully conscious)... because I didn't know that YES, I really could squeeze all that old yuck out... with new, pretty, happy stuff. And once I got enough practice at this... it started to feel more normal for me; and one day I sorta realized - oh, I don't do that anymore!! I don't "need" to do that anymore... etc.
New stuff requires taking some risks, making an effort to see things in a different way, trying to "connect" - even if with just a smile to someone I don't even know, and constantly reminding myself that I'm no worse off than the next person - and not better, either. What I went through might be unfamiliar to some people; many more will recognize and connect with parts of it. What happened to me isn't equal to who I am. Both kinds of people are just people and an opportunity to bring something "new" into the mix... to keep replacing the old yuck. (And yeah, sometimes you run into "new yuck" - but after all the work I've done with y'all here & on my own - it really doesn't affect me the same way; as deeply or as long. And there is even more progress here, too.)
GS, I know you're making more progress than you once thought possible. I think your sparrows are simply trying to tell you, you're ready to start connecting now.
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PR--I so agree about the void.
Just saying STOP! to my self-defeating tapes doesn't do it--I just have to vigorously argue back.
So, plodding along on my walk I'll hear some panicky refrain start and I'll think (loudly):
STOP!
I'm doing just fine.
I'm okay, I'm doing fine.
(Rinse and repeat). It's a shame it has to be done so intentionally but that's what it takes, you are so right.
GS--I am thrilled by the sparrows, thank you so much for that picture. It looks like a painting, because it's low-res--and that makes me wish I could paint. Thanks for sharing it.
xxoo
Hops
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Dear Hopsy,
you are so right. Just regaining my voice isn't enough. Saying something doesn't "make it so". I have to put it to use - intentionally. The intention is the pattern-energy, the wish-energy, that pushes past the old energy of "not now", "I can't", or "I'm afraid of _______.".
In tai chi, there is a list of 10 principles that the players work to incorporate into their physical practice. No. 6 states "Use intent; not force". It is the hardest one to explain to beginners, except maybe "use quiessence in movement". The study of intent begins with visualization - being absolutely clear about say, where I'm going to put my foot down and at what angle and how I'm actually going to pick up, move and place that foot... and then how much of my weight I'm going to transfer to that foot and how rooted & stable I want it to be.
Deeper study of intent recognizes that the energy of the mind, combined with spirit (visualization + wish) is enough to create the physical action. Extreme muscle strength or flexibility - what we normally consider "effort" - is extraneous and is actually a waste of energy. I discovered that in my own practice, to get this "right enough" to feel the flow of the movements I had to cease repeating the order of the postures in my mind and deliberately not make an effort - in other words, just let the movement of my body happen as a natural expression of intent. And simply trust that I was moving into the postures in the correct sequence.
I failed at this in the ranking test, but in failing I learned something extremely important that I'd missed in the years of classes up to that point. I'd put so much effort into learning the sequence of movements and refining them for "perfection" - forcing myself to practice over & over - forcing myself to always be a beginner, forcing myself to work hard, forcing myself to "remember" so many of the tiny, intricate details that make up "standard form"... that I pushed spirit or wish or heart (equates with feeling) completely out of the experience. And of course, it all came rushing at me during my performance in the test about 1/3 of the way through; and I simply wasn't present enough anymore to trust my muscle memory or left-brain sequence memory to know where I was in the routine anymore.
After that, my practice changed. And I found I was completely able to stay "present" in the sequence and still contain or experience all that flow of feeling simultaneously. And keep my balance and transfer my weight properly and... and the only thing I was doing differently was not using force anymore. I used the intent I could summon prior to beginning the form to carry me all the way through. Sure, some of my final positions went a little wonky for a while but it wasn't long before I could simply "feel" the right sequence, the final posture, and finally the recitation of the order & sequence of movement was silenced. And then I was amazed at how "simple" moving through 103 different forms, correctly could be.
I had one of those revelatory "seeing" things at the time, too. About how pre-trauma, I was able to do this naturally. And how some of the abuse that came after, was only concerned about things like how exactly I placed my foot... and completely left out, obscured, denied, disallowed... that this phenomenon of intent existed or was real. How "feeling" was just an illusion and therefore not important. The abuse was force - for the sake of force. You will do and be X, because I said so - even if it was artificial, ill-fitting, and "not me" at all.
The voice(s) of self-criticism, flogging, driving insistence on perfection, never ceasing recriminations or second-guessing oneself, is created in our minds and feelings because it's a survival skill; a defense mechanism to keep oneself from running afoul of the parent-critic. But so too, is the willingness to throw oneself under the bus - to not care about oneself - to deliberately or unconsciously indulge in self-defeating, self-sabotaging, self-destructive behaviors. It's the lesser of two evils, in a way. That willingness has to do with a rejection and indigestion of the never-ceasing, ever vigilant internal dialogue that one uses as some kind of shield or magical form of protection from a direct assault on self by the abusive parent. It's a subliminally expressed intent to put oneself out of the reach of the abuser and the residual radioactivity of abuse...
Anything practiced long enough becomes a part of our self-image; our identity. But that doesn't necessarily mean that one was born this way or is doomed to always fail at changing that practice... and therefore changing that self-image and self-defined identity. If it took a long time to learn to do something artificial and not natural to ourselves... it also takes a long time to unlearn it and lots and lots of practice of something else; with the use of intent - and not force. But not as long a time, as "force" would have us believe.