An Example of Using Ego State Therapy to Bring About Internal Change

In my previous post, I discussed my use of Ego State Therapy to bring about change within my ego states, my inner family.  Here, then, is a brief excerpt from my therapy dialogue to help you see how I use this dialogue to bring about inner change.  The characters in this brief scene are as follows:

Me:  The part of me that is, in a sense, a teacher or "organizer."

Jeanie:  The little girl part of my psyche, the part that holds my childhood experiences, including trauma experiences.  "Jeanie," as I experience "Jeanie," has her own psyche.  Contained in this "sub-psyche" are specific childhood trauma experiences, including the one alluded to in this excerpt, the naked photo sessions.  The twin girls include the little 4-year-old child I was when my parents invited friends to the house to view me as I was forced to pose naked for a photographer and the little girl's shadow companion, the little gray twin.  Before I told my therapist about these sessions, I made this drawing depicting the photo sessions--

The quality of this photo is not good because it was scanned from my drawing, so I will explain:  I, as a four-year-old child, am sitting on a table.  As you can see from my posture, I am ashamed of my nakedness.  My twin, the little gray girl, is sitting beneath the table in the same position of shame and humiliation.  I could not see that little girl when I was having my photo taken, but I knew she was there.  Her presence was my only comfort.  Without her, I might not have survived these photo sessions.

 People are observing me on both sides of the table--you can see their hands extended holding drinks.  They are also smoking.  I remember the cigarette smoke because it stung my eyes, and I remember the sound of people laughing as they enjoyed their drinks.  Below is the only photo taken during these sessions which I have kept.  It's reminder that this really happened, but it does not reveal much of my nakedness.  Compare the forced smile in this photo with the genuine smile in the photo beneath.  Both photos were taken of me at the same age but under completely different circumstances.  

The other major player in this excerpt is Gemini, a plodding and gentle old land tortoise that has preserved my/Jeanie's powers of imagination and intuition.  Gemini lives near the water trough behind the stables and near the manure pile where Cowboy throws the soiled hay when she mucks out the stalls.  This location is ideal for Gemini because he/she can enjoy the moisture from the dripping faucet and can have fun capturing and eating the tiny insects that emerge from the manure pile--a great dwelling place for a wise old land tortoise like Gemini!

A minor player who also appears in this excerpt is I.T., Internal Therapist, the ego state who does what I term "lightweight therapy" as I go about my days.  This ego state directs my normal daily process of dealing with ordinary and minor puzzling or confusing interpersonal transactions, the sort of events that may result from unclear communication or missed social cues.   

Setting:  The dining hall of the huge indoor dressage arena on the floor of Jasper Canyon.  As the little stream ripples by, day creatures bask on the rocks in the sun, and  bees flit from sagebrush to sagebrush. We are aware of the scurrying noises of tiny rodents and rabbits as they search for their next meal.  Otherwise, all is peaceful as the sun continues its climb toward late afternoon and early evening.

The ego states dwelling inside the arena are just finishing a hearty afternoon meal.  Me is sitting with Jeanie so she can discuss the possibility of Jeanie's spending more time with her beloved horses in the stables of the arena.  Jeanie loves the horses and her room in the stable area with its wagonwheel bed, her little rustic pine table, and her closet filled with formal riding outfits, cowboy duds, and fancy dresses, so persuading the little girl to spend more time in the stables is no problem.  Let's listen, now, to the conversation . . . 

Me:  Jeanie, do you know why we are eating dinner together tonight? 

Jeanie:  Yes, I think so.  Gemini has talked to I.T. about helping me with the sad little twins inside me.  Gemini thinks he/she can help the twins inside me get happier.  Is that what you mean?

Me:  Oh, yes, my dear.  That is why we are having this special dinner.  And do you know that I.T. and Gemini want you to spend a week or so here, back with your horsey friends and sleeping in your little wagon wheel bed?

Jeanie:  Of course I know, Me.  And I can work along with Cowboy sometimes and visit all my equine friends once again.  It will be just like it used to be, except Gemini is going to help me.  And that will mean that Gemini and I will spend some time together.  I won’t be able to spend ALL my time with the horses and with Cowboy, will I?

Me:  No, Jeanie, you won’t, but you will be able to spend a lot of time with them.  Is that good enough? 

Jeanie:  mouth full, nods . ..

Me:  And you understand that you may experience changes inside yourself during this time?

Jeanie:  Yes, but that’s kind of scary.  Will the changes be good changes?  Or will they hurt?

Me:  You must trust that the changes will be VERY good changes and that none of them will hurt. 

Jeanie:  But why am I going to work with Gemini?  I don’t even know him/her.  What does Gemini have to do with me?

Me: Well, are you aware of the twins inside you, the two sad little girls, one pink and with blond curls and one all gray, that separated from one another?

Jeanie:  Sometimes.  And sometimes when I feel very, very sad, I can hear the one little girl crying.**  But I can’t really tell who it is sometimes.  I don’t know if it’s the little sad twin who is crying or if it’s somebody else.  But since there aren’t very many parts inside my psyche, then I always decide that the little crying girl I hear is the gray little twin, the one who separated from me when those people took all those pictures of me with nothing on, when my mother did things to me.  Ooooo, it makes me all sad to even think about it.  Will I feel better after Gemini spends time with me?

Me:  Our hope, Jeanie, is that you will feel so much better that you will be able to grow and grow just like little girls are supposed to grow.  But, I’ll leave that to you and Gemini.

Jeanie:  When are Gemini and I going to spend time together?  And I’m a little scared of Gemini because he/she is a tortoise, and I’ve never known any tortoises before.  Will Gemini be kind to me?

Me:  Of course, Jeanie!  Have you ever met Gemini? 

Jeanie:  Not really.  I’ve just seen him/her from a distance.  Where is he?

At that moment, we behold a large, brown bowler hat poking its way around the edge of the arch leading into the dining area, this followed by a reptilian snout and the rest of the tortoise head.  Slowly Gemini shuffles into the dining area, pausing to express his/her apology for being late. 

Me:  We understand, Gemini.  It takes you a while to get the messages, and then it takes you another while to act on them.  But that is okay.  Jeanie, here, was just wondering about you, for she has never really met you formally. 

Gemini:  Hi, there, Jeanie.  Has Me told you about our plan? 

Jeanie:  Oh, yes, and I’m happy about it!  I know there is a sad little girl inside me, and I’d like her to be happy.  Can you really help me with that?

Gemini:  I believe I can, Jeanie.  At that, Gemini gives Jeanie such a soft, gentle look with his huge brown eyes that Jeanie knows at once that Gemini loves her and will be kind and gentle as they do their work together.

Jeanie:  You name, Gemini, means twins, and did you know that inside me are two twin little girls?  One of them can remember my happiness at being a little girl, and the other contains my sadness, the pain from what people did to me.  They once were just one little girl, the happy little girl, but people did things to me that caused the other little girl, the sad girl, to be born as twin to the happy little girl. 

I want to be happy, and I want to grow.  I don’t like always being a little girl.  Can you help me with that?

Gemini:  That’s what we will be working on this next week, Jeanie.  I will do everything in my power to help you grow and to help those two little girls inside you to help you grow. 

Jeanie:  Okay.  I’m tired right now, though, and I’d like to go to my place in the stable and visit with my horse friends before I go to bed.  May I do that?  And will you come and see me tomorrow? 

Gemini:  Of course, Jeanie.  Do you want to ride back to the stable on my shell?

Jeanie:  Oooooo..  That might be fun.  But what can I hold on to?

Gemini:  You see this front edge of my shell?  Just lie on your stomach and grab onto that, and I’ll take you back to your stable and to your equine friends.  Okay?

Jeanie:  Okay!  Let’s go!

Jeanie clambers up onto the shell of Gemini, grabs the front edge, and slowly the tortoise lumbers down the hall toward the stables.  As they progress toward their destination, Jeanie becomes sleepier and sleepier and drifts into a light slumber, always still clinging to the carapace of the big tortoise.  Meanwhile, after Jeanie’s departure, the dining area is abuzz with post-dinner conversation as J.P., Me, I.T., Cowboy, and F.P. lead a discussion on this latest development, the possible changes about to come in Jeanie’s life and the implications of these changes for the lives of everyone at the arena.  Because these changes mean possible change for all parts and possible fundamental change in the entire way of life for the folks who inhabit the arena and also for Jean, discussion continues far into the night and ends only when Cowboy notices the first spears of morning light piercing the pre-dawn dark.  J.P. hastens to mount Starlight, Constanza and F.P. rush to prepare breakfast, and the usual morning routine falls into place.  Yes, the usual morning routine, but for how long?  What will Jeanie’s possible change mean for the daily life at the arena?  We don’t know that yet, but the time will come when the answer to our question will appear.  For now, we must bide our time and wait. 

**        **   End of Excerpt   **      **

**Re the crying little girl Jeanie hears--In 1980 when I first saw a therapist and before I caught my former husband sexually abusing our daughter and turned him in, I would hear a little girl crying inside my head whenever I was under stress.  And I was under horrendous stress most of the time even though I didn't realize it!  By 1983, when my first therapist retired and I had found a job I really enjoyed, I no longer was aware of the crying most of the time.  Eventually, I no longer heard the crying at all.  I do not really understand this phenomenon, but I explain it to myself by theorizing that it may have been my mind's way of letting me know that I needed help.  It could have been a protective mechanism just as dissociation has been a protective mechanism.  I don't know.  What I do know is that the human mind is amazing, wonderful, and beautiful, and I thank God that my mind is as efficient as it is!  

My Journey Through Ego State Therapy: "Don't Mess With Me!"

My Family of Ego States

What are ego states?  As I understand the term, they are those "parts" of our personalities that perform somewhat specialized functions as we go about our days.  For example, when I am motivated to take a problem "by the horns," give it all my energy, and do whatever it takes to "wrestle the problem to the ground,"  my  Cowboy takes charge, and I can get the job done. I have another ego state that is "Ms.Take Charge and Organize."  This particular ego state is similar to my Cowboy state, but she isn't quite as prone to charging full ahead on a task and wrestling the problem to the ground.  She works more thoughtfully, smoothly, and steadily than Cowboy and is more polished and sophisticated.  "Ms. Take Charge and Organize" directed my behavior when I taught school and directs my behavior now when I need her.  When working with  a class of seventh graders, I truly needed "Ms. Take Charge and Organize."  At times, however, I also needed Cowboy!  (See http://www.egostatetherapy.com/)

I have another ego state, "Ms. Listen, Understand, and Offer Help If Wanted," who becomes dominant when a friend talks to me about personal matters.  My "little girl" ego state and my "battered wife" ego state become anxious when someone or something in my environment comes across as threatening my safety, and sometimes the ego states that hold the core of my trauma damage react in such a way that they seem to pull all of my other ego states momentarily into that horrible dark space where the negative shadow parts lurk and skulk. The shadow parts, however, scary in their darkness, often lose their ability to scare me when I confront them in bright daylight.  In fact, as I have learned while going through this process, parts that began the process as scary shadows often, given respect and recognition, can develop into protectors. Some of these dark shadow parts, in fact, have evolved to become the guardians of the light in my soul.  Without them protecting my light, I might be plunged back into the state of despair or darkness that I have experienced at times.

 The ego states described thus far are not the only ego states in my psyche.  I have acquired a multitude of ego states during my seventy-four years of life, and I suspect that even though I recently have managed to achieve a state of relative peace and harmony among them, enough so to reduce my symptoms, I will need to continue working with my ego states to maintain this harmony.  

So how, exactly, did I know that I needed to do some work with my ego states?   When I first began seeing my present therapist, I was constantly being triggered by the environment outside my apartment.  I dreaded stepping out my apartment door because I knew that I would encounter somebody or some situation that would cause me to react with that familiar "fight or flight" response or would trigger a flashback or a dissociative episode. Sometimes, depending on what was happening in my environment, I would experience derealization* or depersonalization*. Those feelings or sensations are so uncomfortable and so confusing that I did my best to limit the trips beyond my apartment door just so I could avoid them.  The world inside my apartment was predictable, but beyond that door lay the unknown and the unpredictable.  

Three years ago I did not understand that my psyche was in a state of chaos, as unpredictable and disorganized as the world beyond my apartment door:  The ego states inhabiting my psyche lacked connection to one another; they were fragmented.  On one of my first visits to her in April of 2010, my therapist told me that before we could work with EMDR, I needed to strengthen my ego.  I wasn't sure what she meant by that, but she said she thought Ego State Therapy would help me do that.  When I asked her to explain, I interpreted her explanation to mean that I needed to bring about a more organized and harmonious condition within my psyche, a condition where all my ego states worked together to promote my inner peace and healing.  She went on to say that normally a person identifies as many of her ego states as possible and then invites the ego states to a conference so all the parts sit around a conference table and negotiate to bring about peace among them. I have read that ego state work is much like family therapy work, but where family therapy involves working with individual family members to bring about harmony amongst a collection of individual people, ego state therapy works with an individual's internal family of ego states to achieve harmony.  

 After giving her words much thought, I conceptualized my therapist's description of the process to be akin to defragging a hard drive in a computer--when one runs the defrag program, all the little bits of information that are chaotically scattered throughout the hard drive are gathered up, organized, and placed so they work together for the good of the entire system.  The computer runs more efficiently, and the glitches and retrieval problems are reduced.  When a person "defrags" his or her mind/brain by working with ego states, that mind/brain works more efficiently.  Mental chaos subsides, and healing can take place.  With healing comes a reduction in PTSD symptoms.  That has been my experience, at any rate.

Thus, motivated to reduce my symptoms, I began my ego state work. Perhaps because I am a writer and have had experience putting myself into a light trance state to access my imagination and my intuition, I decided to write my entire Ego State Therapy process as a dialogue or drama, each ego state being a character.  Normally, the work is done in the therapist's office, but Cowboy wanted to get started and didn't want to wait for my twice-weekly therapy appointments to get the job done.  Thus began the 1000+-page story of my ego states' interactions.  Because my Monday appointments are ninety minutes long, I have used Mondays to read my work to my therapist.  She has listened, asked me questions, and helped me when I got stuck.  Sometimes, when I simply could not get unstuck, she got out the colored pencils and paper, and I drew what I could not say.  Then, when I was at home and had time, I used the material I had drawn to help me verbalize in my dialogue.  Eventually, after about three years of doing this, I reached a point where my therapist and I transitioned into EMDR work. 

My dialogue isn't finished; it probably never will be finished while I am alive, and I don't want it to be a "closed book."  I want the book to remain open so I can go back into it and use my characters to help me resolve issues that are yet not resolved.  What is important is that in writing my dialogue,  I have achieved the outcome I wanted.  I have managed to reduce my PTSD symptoms.  I can leave the predictability of my apartment environment and walk out the door now without fear of being triggered.  I no longer experience flashbacks and no longer dissociate when I hear people arguing loudly or shouting at one another.  Also, my bouts with anxiety have decreased in number, possibly because I now feel calmer and more powerful and capable of taking care of myself.  

Of course, I could not have done my ego state work without the support of my therapist.  She has been with me throughout this process, just as she is with me now as we work with EMDR.  She listened to me read my ego state dialogue, and she guided me whenever I needed guidance.  She was with me in a way that only a therapist could be with me, using her skill and experience--and herself!--to give me whatever help I needed.  Most importantly--my therapist has had faith in me, faith that I could do this work and succeed in achieving the outcome I desired.  Because she has had faith in me, I have had the confidence I needed to do the work. 

And now my therapist and I are working together to make sure that I get the most benefit possible from all my hard work.  Last Monday, for example, she gave me a lesson in using my ego state work as a tool to help me alleviate anxiety when I feel threatened.  I told her that a recent interpersonal situation had resulted in my experiencing the old "flight or fight" sort of anxiety.  She asked me if I thought that my little girl ego state and my battered wife ego state needed some reassurance from me, Jean, that they were safe and that I was in control of the situation and would not let harm come to them. 

 I realized then that I can turn down the intensity of any anxiety I experience simply by scanning my experience to see if my anxiety is warranted, and then, if it is not,  reassuring those parts of myself by letting them know that this is not "then"; this is "now."  And in the "now," they and I are safe because I'm a grownup and not a vulnerable child and am not living in an abusive marriage any longer.  I have the power to protect myself, and I no longer allow other people to violate or take advantage of me.  I can put up my boundaries and control the impact other people have on my life.  Or, as I prefer to express this, "I don't have to let anyone mess with me!"  

*Here is a site that will give you information on derealization and depersonalization:    
http://panicdisorder.about.com/od/symptoms/a/DeperDereal.htm  

My Red Balloon: Dealling With A Persistent and Destructive Memory



Please Note:  If you have a history of emotional neglect, reading the following post might be triggering for you.  If you do read this and, as a result, find yourself in distress, please call your therapist or try 1-800-273-8255.  If you are in Oregon, look on this website for a local number: http://www.suicide.org/hotlines/oregon-suicide-hotlines.html. 

Many years ago I was enchanted by an amazing film titled "The Red Balloon."  The main character, a little boy about ten years old, Pascal, befriends a large red helium-filled balloon, and their relationship is the stuff of which the story is made.  Neither boy nor balloon speaks a word, but no words are needed.  For much of the film, the red balloon follows the little boy, dogs his heels, in fact, to the point where the boy is punished for the balloon's bad behavior by adults who do not understand that the balloon has a mind of its own.  Why not punish the balloon?  Nobody, of course, thinks of that!  At the end of the film, a pack of envious schoolmates destroys the beautiful red balloon, but does this act destroy little Pascal?  Certainly not!  A multi-hued cluster of helium-filled balloons from all parts of Paris swoops Pascal up and takes him on a ride high over the city.  And there the tale ends.

So what on earth does the tale of little Pascal and the red balloon have to do with me and with C-PTSD and with my journey through therapy?  Interesting and complex question!  I'll attempt an answer.

Last week, I discovered my own "red balloon."  Although my balloon is not a benevolent balloon,  it certainly is as faithful as little Pascal's.  It has dogged my heels throughout my life and has seemingly had a life of its own for all these decades.  I say this because much of the time I have not been aware of its presence.  But I know now that it has been bobbing along, shadowing me for 74+ years, pursuing me relentlessly and with a vengeance.  How do I know this?  I know because last week it made its presence known big time!  It bumped up against me as I talked to my therapist about my early years, and it remained with me as I dipped deeper into depression after I got home.  Yes, I've given my tenacious balloon a name: essential depression.  I say essential depression to mark that its roots are deep in my psyche and go back in time for as long as I have existed. This depression is different from the fleeting, more superficial and temporary sense of depression that descends upon me when I experience a situational setback or the sort of emotional hurt that comes with everyday human interactions that may not be of major importance but, nevertheless, hurt. 

This essential depression may be familiar to many of you:  It's the sense of hopelessness, helplessness, despair, and total isolation that may come over some of us from time to time--or more often, perhaps.  It's the sense of crawling in the white-hot sands of an immense desert, my knees and hands on fire and my tongue parched but with no oasis in sight.  Ravens are circling above, waiting for me to stop so they can make a meal of my body, plucking the gray matter of my brain first, an appetizer.  If you really want to know about this desert, read Camus' "L'Etranger".  One caution:  If you tend to pick up on depression, you might be better off to NOT read Camus' book! 

As my retired psychologist friend often says:  With awareness comes change.  I believe that I'm beginning to understand the nature of this balloon, and now that I am beginning to understand it, I believe I can pop it so it no longer dogs my heels and bobs up to make me miserable.  

My therapist calls this balloon, this essential depression, a "memory."  When she said that last Monday, I thought, "Wow!  A memory!  If it's a memory, then it's not present reality, and if it's not present reality, then why am I letting it control me?  Why am I letting a mere memory make my life so miserable?  I don't want to suffer because of this memory; I don't need to suffer because of this memory.  So I am going to learn all I can about this memory and its origins, and then, when I understand it, maybe some EMDR sessions will reduce the emotional impact."  Sound simple?  Well, trust me, dealing with this memory is not going to be as simple as popping a helium-filled balloon, but it isn't an impossible task by a long shot.  In fact, I've already begun the task.  I have identified what I believe to be the experiences that generated this memory.

If you type effects of neglect on infants into a search engine, you will find a multitude of articles, some probably more trustworthy than others.  For starters, you might read the Wickipedia article that comes up just to get a basic idea as to the effects of neglect on infants, and from that article you might look for others from more trustworthy sites in order to get more details.  If you do this research, you will find that infants who are deprived of the attention and quality of care that all infants need for proper development are at risk for a lifetime of physical and psychological illnesses.  In fact, even infants in the womb are sensitive to "bad vibes" in their environments and can arrive into this world already emotionally damaged.  We come into this world with the neurological "wiring" set to receive adequate parenting; when parenting is inadequate, when we are chronically neglected and don't receive this parenting, then our wiring "shuts down" much as a computer goes into hibernation mode.  The consequences?  PTSD, according to some researchers.  Well, this is my very simplistic description; I'm a writer and not a scientist.  However, my personal experience exemplifies the theory.  The good news is that this inactive wiring can be reactivated at any point in life, including the senior years, and the wounds left by neglect can be healed, at least partially, given the right environment.  By "right environment," I mean good and effective therapy and a good, healthy, and effective emotional life situation.

All my life I have known that I was not supposed to have been born.  I remember thinking when I was a very little girl that I was here by default--God had intended to kill me at birth but had been distracted and simply had not gotten around to doing the deed.  But he would remember, and one day when I least expected it, he would do the deed, and I would be dead.  That thought, like the red balloon, followed me around all day and caused me to be anxious and jumpy.  My kindergarten teacher noted on a report card that "Jean seems very nervous," but she, not knowing anything of my inner life, attributed the nervousness to a growth spurt.  My parents didn't show any interest in ferreting out the cause of my nervousness.  They certainly didn't ask me!  I could have told them, but they didn't ask.  Of course, the sexual abuses I endured added to my nervous behavior, but I did not tell, and my parents did not ask.  The fact is that my mother seldom engaged me in a human-to-human conversation, and my father never spoke to me directly except to yell at me in anger when I was doing something that displeased him.  So the opportunity to tell never arose.

One day, at age eleven, when I had nothing else to do and was digging around in my parents' bookshelves, I discovered and read the manual--the "cookbook"!--that my mother had used as a guide to parenting.  This manual was published by the U.S.D.A. in the 1930s and distributed to expectant mothers.  My mother, I can imagine, regarded it as a gift from heaven.  She had been an only child and was totally clueless regarding infant care, so she read and followed the guide to the letter.  I can only imagine she believed that by following the rules of parenting outlined in this book, she would produce a "perfect child."  It was a matter of "plugging it in, turning the crank, and out would come a perfect product." 

 In order to get this product, parents were admonished to leave the baby alone--feed it, clean it, change it, and if it cried before the time for the next feeding and changing, don't touch it!  Yes, babies were mentioned as "it," as if they were little "things," objects, and not relational human beings.  Touching, according to the manual, spoils children and makes them little tyrants who think they are boss of the household.  Babies need the experience of asking for attention and not getting it, the experience of needing and wanting connection with another human being and discovering instead that there are no other human beings and there are no connections.  There is only isolation and the misery that goes with it.  That, at any rate, is what the cookbook/child care manual in my parents' bookcase advocated. 

My mother, having no sense of empathy and no ability to use any maternal instincts and common sense she may--or may not--have had, followed the book to the letter and even passed the wisdom on to other young mothers in later years when they came to our house for coffee and "klatsching."  Of course, what we know now is that the government-issued booklet advocated child neglect, purely and simply.  And God knows how many babies were damaged and now as senior adults suffer PTSD or C-PTSD because their parents followed the wise words in this booklet.  At age eleven, though, I knew that the "wisdom" in this book was toxic, and I tucked the information into a file in my brain to recall at some future date.  I'm glad I did that at age eleven because now that information is helping me unlock the doors to my healing.

The information I've given above supports the fact that as an infant, I experienced neglect.  I also know that for the first month of my life I lived in the hospital nursery--not a place where an infant receives the nurturing of loving caregivers.  My mother developed a kidney disease when she was pregnant with me, and since there was nobody at home during the day, my parents boarded me at the hospital for the sum of $1.00 per day.  For about a month I lived in a white metal hospital crib and was fed, changed, and cleaned every four hours.  Possibly the various shifts of nurses visited me and cooed over me, but I don't know that for a fact.  I was an attractive baby, so maybe they did.  But maybe not. 

Jean, Almost Age One



When my parents finally took me home, my mother was still recovering from giving birth and the kidney problem, so I can imagine that she did not have much of herself to give to me.  But, then, she didn't seem to have much to give me at any time, as I recall.  I remember that at some point in my eighth year I became aware of what seemed a fundamental truth in my life:  I was on one side, and everyone else in the world was on the other side.  On the side of what?  I wasn't sure, but I did know that if I was to get through my life, I could not expect any help.  Nor did I deserve any help.  Obviously--to me, at any rate--I was essentially worthless, so I had no right to ask for help or to expect any help.  So I decided I needed to be as self-sufficient as possible in order to avoid the certain pain of rejection that would come if I asked anyone for help of any kind.  Because I was a child and thought as a child thinks, the notion that my parents might have been worthless as parents did not enter my head. 

And then one day when I was about forty, my mother's words inflated this balloon I've named essential depression to the point of bursting.  The balloon didn't burst, but it came close.  At one point, as my mother and I were engaged in a discussion regarding the condition of the house my family and I owned, my mother said, apropos of nothing, "You were supposed to have been aborted, but I didn't go through with it because I was afraid I'd die."  She did NOT say, ". . .because I wanted you."  She said, ". . . because I was afraid I'd die."  I was stunned!  After a long pause, however, I asked her why she told me that.  Her response was, "I just thought you should know."  I remembered that response, and a year later I asked her the question again.  Again, she said, "Oh, I just thought you should know."  She's dead now, and I'll never know why she thought I should know, but whatever reason she would give me now doesn't matter. 

I believe I know the reason:  My mother had no sense of empathy, or if she did, she completely ignored whatever she had when it came to me.   Why else would she have repeatedly said to me when I was a pre-teen, "Jeanie, you are built like a brick toilet"?  Why else would she have said to me when I was a teenager, "Jeanie, you have such a pretty face.  It's too bad you are so fat"? Why else would she have said to me when I told her I was getting married, "My friends all believe you are pregnant and have to get married"?  Why else would she have said to me when I told her I had been accepted into a graduate program at one of the state universities, "That will be a waste of money.  Look at how poorly you did when you were an undergraduate"?  I didn't tell her that I had done so poorly because I had tried to flunk out.  After all, I had not chosen to attend college after I graduated from high school--I wanted to work for a year.  But my parents forced me to go to school.  In my still-adolescent mind, I reasoned that if I flunked out of college, they would see that I was right and they were wrong.  However, I failed to fail. I failed to fail, and in failing to fail, I failed myself.  That failure added a few inches to the girth of my red balloon! 

Well, the facts are in, and the data point to one major piece in the puzzle of my life:  I was not wanted, and my parents were not happy to see me. Even before I was born, my mother rejected me emotionally.  After I was born, of course, I experienced further neglect.  And what is the relationship between this basic neglect and parental refusal to relate to me as a human being and this red balloon that has dogged me all my life?  My red balloon has been filled not with helium but with the devastating and excruciatingly painful sense of isolation and loneliness that a baby experiences when she cries and nobody comes.  Nobody comes to comfort and soothe the baby and to reassure her that, yes, she is loved and cherished.  Nobody comes to tell her she is valuable and worthy of attention.  Nobody comes to smile at her and play with her and enjoy her laugh.  Nobody.  Her despair inflates the balloon, and the balloon grows larger as the little girl grows older.  It dogs her heels until she considers ending her young life just to separate herself from that balloon.  But she doesn't end her life.  She just keeps putting one foot in front of the other and does her best to raise her children, be a wife, and earn an income. 

Finally, when she is in her early forties, the balloon swells to the point where the woman fears for her life.  The balloon engulfs her, threatens to cut off her air supply.  Does she give in, or does she continue to struggle, continue to put one foot in front of the other?  Desperate and thinking about her children, the woman asks for help.  And to her complete amazement and joy, her cry is heard and somebody comes.  At long last, somebody comes!  And thus begins this woman's journey on the road to healing. 

If you have been following my blog, you know the story from this point.  I’m not quite “there” yet, but I’m getting there.  And now that I am aware of my red balloon, the roots of my essential depression, I’m going to work at deflating it, rendering it powerless.  Doing this will be, I believe, a giant step in my journey toward healing.  “With awareness comes change,” and with change can come healing.





Jean, Age Two

Jean, Age Four

Jean, Age Nine

 

Jean Today, Age 74

A Few Words About Ego State Therapy and Healing

In November of 2012, I published the following post on my Word Press site (Healing Complex PTSD Symptoms), and I'm republishing it here.  It is relevant to my present situation in therapy because I have, for the most part, reduced my symptoms to the point where they don't interfere with my daily life as they once had done--I have gone from not wanting to leave my apartment for fear that my symptoms would be triggered to not being worried about triggers. Also, my discussion in this post may give you insight into how you can take control of your own PTSD symptoms and reduce them. 

Although presently my therapist and I are working with EMDR, I have spent over two years working with Ego State Therapy to get ready for the EMDR phase of my therapy.  When I began my work with this therapist in April of 2010, I told her that my goal was to get symptom relief through EMDR.  She told me that before she would work with EMDR, I needed to get ready and that part of getting ready involved working with my ego states to make them stronger and to bring about some inner harmony.  I was not happy with these words because I wanted to begin EMDR as soon as possible, get my symptoms reduced, and get the hell out of therapy!  After all, I'd been trying for 30 years to find relief, and I wanted to reach my goal before I got any older.  But I decided to trust my therapist, to trust that she knew what she was talking about.  Now, of course, I know that she did, indeed, speak the truth to me.  I am so happy that I hung in with her!  Together we are working with EMDR, and it is helping me immensely to defuse the trauma energy that has caused my symptoms--flashbacks, dissociative episodes, numbing, etc.. 

Finding relief from these symptoms has been my goal, and for all practical purposes, I am there most of the time.  Now I need to learn to adapt to this new state of mind.  But I'm sure I can do it.  If I've managed to reach the point where I am now, I can certainly find my way from here!  However, I still have a lot to learn, and I know that as long as I have my wits about me, the learning will never stop. 

Hope and peace to you . . .

As you are aware, Ego State Therapy as developed after the middle of the 1900s by such people as John and Helen Watkins, is a therapy in which the client identifies his or her ego states and then is helped by the therapist to bring these ego states into a state of harmony so they can work in the best interest of the client to improve the quality of his or her life.  (http://www.clinicalsocialwork.com/egostate.html) This process is much like family therapy, but rather than work with members of a family, the therapist works with the “family” within the client and also teaches the client how to do this internal work on his own.  This therapy is often a precursor to EMDR therapy, but even when used without EMDR, Ego State Therapy can bring about amazing relief from C-PTSD and its symptoms.

How do I know this?  I’ve been engaged in Ego State Therapy for over 2 1/2 years now, and I can testify to its effectiveness.  Wow, can I ever!!  

In one of my recent posts  (November 28, 2012), I mentioned the spaciness and feeling of being “unsettled” that can creep up on me at odd times but primarily before my therapy appointments.  Last week, I mentioned to my therapist that this feeling is very uncomfortable, especially when it makes me feel disoriented.  She replied that she would help me learn how to control the sensations.  I was amazed!  I had no idea that controlling the spaciness and other odd sensations was within my power.  She did not elaborate on her offer to help me, and we ran out of time, so when I left her office, I did not know any more about the “how to” than I did when I entered her office.

However, I left my therapist’s office with one extremely important piece of information:  I have the power to control those psychic sensations that had been making me so uncomfortable!!   I had assumed that those feelings were beyond my control.  I had assumed that, like my liver and my kidneys, my psyche did its own thing on its own without any guidance from my conscious mind.  Boy, am I ever happy to know that my assumptions were incorrect!  Ever since my therapist enlightened me and I realized that I was in charge, I have had no episodes of spaciness and no peculiar feelings that have left me disoriented.  I am confident, now, that when/if I sense the condition beginning to come back, I can keep it at bay by recognizing and acknowledging its approach and negotiating within myself to keep it from coming on full force.  I’m sure this will be tested in the next few weeks, but I’m equally sure now that I can effectively keep myself clear-minded and fully able to function.

In addition to the above, I am now fully aware of my inner family and feel capable of negotiating with the various members whenever I feel the need to do so.  This is another amazing step for me.  I realize that anyone reading this might wonder how I could have been in therapy for several years without being aware that I can control what goes on inside my mind.  All I can say in reply is this: If you are in the throes of trying to heal C-PTSD,  you may understand.  Trauma damage, the major underlying component of C-PTSD, renders one’s internal “family” dysfunctional. 

Communication among the various parts of the psyche and communication between the “family members” and the person whose psyche they inhabit is often nonexistent.  Thus, despite the fact that I have been working for about two years to bring about harmony within myself, it’s taken me this long to reach the point where I feel as if that “family” and I inhabit the same body.  But now I do!  What an amazing feeling!  I actually feel “together” for the first time I can remember.  So this is what it feels like to be “normal”?  I must be healing!  Is that possible?  Is the end in sight? 
 
I’ve lived long enough to be skeptical, so I’m not jumping up and down and rejoicing and assuming that I’ve “made it.”  No, I know better than that!  But I do know that I feel together, as in the expression “Get it together.”  I also know that I feel empowered, at least I feel that I can manage myself.  I don’t want to manage anyone else.  Beyond those statements I will not go at this point.  It’s too soon.  I’m not planning to stop therapy right now, either.  I need to stay with it until I’ve adapted to my new self. 

Whew!  It’s been a long old haul, but I think daylight is a lot closer than it ever has been.  My short message is this:  If I can do it, you can do it.  With the help of a competent therapist, you, too, can heal.  I’m looking forward now to a downhill journey rather than the uphill battle I have fought in the past.  
 
In the spirit of the Advent and Christmas season, I ask you, if you are healing from C-PTSD, to pass on the Hope to others.  Here is a quote from Winston Churchill that may inspire you:

 “We make a living by what we get, but we make a life by what we give.” — Winston Churchill

Seen With My Third Eye: A Glimpse Into the Therapeutic Relationship

Seen With My Third Eye--July, 2013

Therapy, in its traditional form, is all about the client--so the books say.  And that is true, to a point.  My therapist's job is to help me undo the damage done by people in my past, the damage that underlies my Complex PTSD.  And I have come a long way, thanks to her skillful help.  She is a clinical psychologist, and I am her client.  So--what does this mean, exactly?

I can't answer that question for anyone else, but I can partially, at least, answer it for myself.  During my first two-plus years seeing my therapist twice a week, I worked with my ego states to bring them to something resembling harmony: not an easy task for somebody my age!  Over my 74 years of life, I had developed a lot of ego states, and it took me a while to identify and define most of the parts within my psyche that make up my "self."  I'm not certain that I've identified all of those parts yet, but I identified enough of them to enable me to do what I have needed to do to alleviate my PTSD symptoms.  This was work I had to do on my own, for the most part. 

In fact, I did my ego state therapy work at home.  I wrote a dialogue or script of more than 1,000 pages in which my parts interacted and worked together "to promote the recovery and the happiness of Jean."  Where did my therapist come into the picture at this time?  She listened to me read installments of my dialogue, she encouraged me, and she witnessed my progress.  The few times I seemed to veer off course, she helped me find my direction.  During the time I worked on my dialogue, my therapist and I interacted in my sessions and worked on our own relationship.  Thus, by the time I had gone as far as I needed to go in this part of my therapy, I was able to transition into the phase of therapy where she and I worked with EMDR, and that is where we are now. 

Oh, I can always return to my dialogue when I need to do that, but now our focus is on EMDR and trying to shift trauma energy from my right brain to my left brain so I can understand it, talk about it, and then let it go. My therapist facilitates this shifting of energy by tapping first on one knee and then on the other, bilateral stimulation, as I actively recall the events connected to childhood traumas.  I am doing the remembering, and I am processing the traumas, and she is doing her part to help me do the processing.  We are working together, but our tasks are not the same.   The tasks are, in fact, very different from one another.  I am aware of my role, and she is aware of her role.  I am alone in my role, and she is alone in her role.  In a sense, we are working together, but each of us is working alone.

Yesterday, however, I learned something about myself, something I did not expect to learn.  I learned that, contrary to what I have believed to this point, sometimes I cannot do my work alone--sometimes I need to share the burden with another person.  Let me explain:  Recently I read a column in the local newspaper discussing the role of fathers in the lives of girls and how the father-daughter relationship can shape a girl's adult life.  As I read this column, memories of my own childhood and my own father flooded back until I felt overwhelmed by feelings of sadness, resentment, and anger--altogether a depressing experience, one I thought I had put to rest.  Obviously, the ghosts are still present and active.  If you have read my posts, you know something about my relationship with my father.  If you have not read my posts, then this post will give you information: Parental Alcoholism, Parental Mental Illness, and Shame: Three Threads In the Tightly-Woven Tapestry of Complex PTSD. 

When I saw my therapist yesterday, then, I was in a real downer.  She and I talked about my father and about my lifelong bouts of feeling invisible (depersonalization), and she helped me as I worked to understand the connection between my father's behavior and attitude towards me and my experiences with depersonalization and derealization.  (For information on derealization, please see my essay titled "Derealization OR Another Trip Down the Rabbit Hole?")  Finally, I could see that my 90-minute session was almost over, and I asked her if there was some way I could do something that would help me lift my mood.  She asked me what I would like to do, and I said that maybe some art work would help.  So she brought out the colored pencils and paper and set up the small table we used for art.  I sat on one side of the table, and she sat across from me. 

Before I began working, however, I suddenly and impulsively asked her if she would work with me.  I simply did not want to do the work by myself.  I wanted her company in this effort.  No--I needed her company in this effort.  She agreed, and we began.  She made a squiggle, and I added to her squiggle, and thus we continued--she and I taking turns.  I loved it!  By the end of my session, we--working together--had created a whimsical, happy little butterfly with a third eye, an eye of intuitive wisdom, so I call it.  You can see this blissful little butterfly at the top of this post, winging her way into the sunshine, guided by a bluebird singing a happy song.  Yesterday, in the process of working together with my therapist to create this blissful little butterfly, I was able to lift myself from the pits of my depressing thoughts and soar into the sunshine, into a much better frame of mind. 

I had come to my session in a miserable frame of mind, but I left feeling happy because my therapist cared enough to join me in creating that little butterfly with the blue and pink wings.  She, in fact, added the bluebird and the music notes.  Before I left, she rolled the picture up, tied a ribbon around it, and suggested that I tape it to my refrigerator door.  I have done that.  I looked at it this morning with my "third eye," the eye of my inner wisdom, and I saw my therapist's care for me.  That makes me happy! 

The really happy person is one who can enjoy the scenery when on a detour. Anon.

Interesting Article You Might Want to Read

Recently, a retired psychologist friend suggested I read articles by Dr. Stephen Porges on his polyvagal theory and the application of his research to healing PTSD.  You might find this information interesting.  Here is a link to one of his articles: http://stephenporges.com/index.php?option=com_content&view=article&id=25:nicabm-the-polyvagal-theory-for-treating-trauma&catid=5:popular-articles&Itemid=12  Note:  What will appear when you click on this link will be a box with a photo of Mr. Porges and some text describing the article.  If you look at the text carefully, you will see that the word "here" is in blue.  Click on "here" to get the whole article.  It's worth the trouble!

As I read his article, I thought to myself, "Oh, yeah, what he has to say about pitch and voice makes a lot of sense."  See what you think of his theory.  Jean

"Why do people do these things to me?" How I Changed This Question and Changed My Life

 Jean, Second Grade, 1946

 

The title question is one you may have asked yourself at times if you have been the target of abuse and violence.  I've asked myself the question many times throughout my life.  Have I ever gotten an answer that satisfies me?  No, I never have. The people who have targeted me may have their own answers, but I wouldn't know anything about that. Yesterday, though, I had an experience that changed my whole perception of myself, and I realized that I had been asking the wrong question all my life.  I also realized that I needed a new question and a new answer to that question. 

Here is what happened yesterday--I had my therapy session as usual, but I didn't arrive at my therapist's office "as usual."  No, I arrived feeling very nervous and feeling as if something was binding me around my shoulders, as if something was gripping my shoulders--and I was scared.  I told my therapist about this, and she decided that we needed to get to the source of this feeling.  I agreed. 

After a few minutes of EMDR work—EMDR is a very simple technique that enables a person to move emotional experiences from their right brain to their left brain so they can verbalize the feelings and understand them--I began to put the sensations in my shoulders and my fears and nervousness into words.  What my body was remembering, I realized, was the first time I was chased and captured by a group of boys while I was walking home from school.  I was in the second grade, and my route home took me past some areas where there were a lot of vacant lots overgrown with bushes and high grass.  I was a fast walker, and I could run faster than most other girls in my class, but the boys were faster.

The boys caught me and forced me into the bushes.  While several of them held my shoulders down on the ground, the others took some of my clothing off--by then the part of me that wasn’t physical had left my body, gone elsewhere: I had dissociated.  I knew what they were doing, but it didn't hurt because a part of me had mentally “checked out.”  Then the boys left. 

As I struggled to get back onto my feet, I worried about what my mother would say regarding the dirt on the back of my dress.  I was supposed to wear my school dresses three times before putting them into the wash because she had a very basic wringer washer and hated washing and ironing.  I also knew that I didn't dare tell her about the boys because somehow she would make the incident my fault, and she would use her wooden spoon on me.  I couldn't tell her when I was seven about what the boys did anymore than I could tell her at age five about the abuse I endured at the neighbor lady's house.  So I decided to tell my mother that I had been running through the vacant lot and had tripped.  That was why my dress was filthy and my hair was out of its braids.  I'd taken my braids out so I could use my fingers to brush out the dirt.  I can imagine that I looked pretty wild when I reached home, but my mother bought my explanation, got mad at me for getting so dirty, and let me go.
 
Years later, I found myself in the same position--on my back, being held down at my shoulders, and slipping out of my body.  Except by that time, I was in my early twenties.  The person pinning me down was my husband.  I wasn't in my body when he did what he did, so it didn't hurt.  I put up with twenty years of this because I didn't know what else to do.  I couldn't justify leaving him because nobody would believe that I was suffering--so I thought.  And in the 1960s and 1970s, when the legal system in our small town was still grounded in the mentality of "men rule," I well may have been wise in not doing anything about my plight.

Yesterday, at the end of my therapy session, I remembered that, in 1983, after I had ended my  marriage, I asked my former husband one day why he stepped up the violence in our bedroom.  His reply: "Because I wanted to know if there was anyone in your body."  He knew I wasn’t present in my body, yet the only way he imagined he could force me back into my body was by using violence!  Now, there is some twisted thinking.

After I left my therapist yesterday, I caught the first of the buses on my way home.  As I sat on the bus, I became aware that the man two places down from me on the bench seat was muttering, trying to get my attention.  I ignored him.  He reached over and touched my arm to get my attention.  I glared at him and said loudly, "Please don't touch me."  He recoiled, and then he stepped up his muttering, using the words "bitch" and "women libber" and a few more derogatory terms.  I said loudly, "I don't want to talk to you," and continued to ignore him.  He leaned closer and grew louder.  Then his stop came up, and he got out. 

After he had left, I took stock of my feelings and realized that I was ANGRY!  Appropriately ANGRY!  I'm still ANGRY!  Not just about the bus incident but about all the other incidents in which I have been bullied and victimized and abused.  I'll have to figure out what to do with the anger, but I'm glad now that I can feel it.  I guess I have the jerk on the bus to thank for that.  Now, there's an irony! 

So how do I answer the question in the title of this article now?  My answer is very simple:  People bully and hurt other people because they CAN!!  They act out their own "stuff" on other people because they figure they CAN and they can do so without consequences.  And they are often smart enough to pick victims who overtly, at least, show no ability to fight back.

Now, the next question is this:  How can I change "Because they can" to "Because they can't"?  If I change the answer, then I'll need to change the question.  So I propose that the new question be this: "Why don't people victimize me now?"  That would fit with the new answer: "Because they CAN'T!  I won’t let them." 

It’s taken me a long time—74 years, in fact—to transform my old question and answer to my new question and answer, but now that I have done this, I feel strong.  I feel as if I can truly take care of myself and protect myself from bullies and from people who want to stroke their own egos at my expense.  I’ve worked hard and long to change my question and answer, and I’m glad I didn’t give up.  Now, at least, I can live the rest of my life without wearing the word victim around my neck.