I am thinking about calling my old psychoanalyst and I don’t know why. Well, I sort of do. He was as close to a healthy father/daughter relationship that I have ever had and I am home and there is a part of me that wants him to know I am back and that I am better than I was when I saw him last. I want him to know I am happy and not happy. I want him to know that I didn’t have the baby. Yet, that old feeling of failing comes back. That feeling that it is something wrong with me and that this speaks of some kind of intrinsic and unchangeable flaw in me. I want him to know that I am writing as the reason I started analysis was that I couldn’t write and my father had just died. I feel somewhat ashamed to say that I am not working and that I am not getting paid to write. I would like to go back to him in total triumph.
I saw him in a brick building in Santa Monica, California, just blocks from the beach, for ten long and transference filled years. I will never do the math on how much I paid him, no good can come of it and should you want me to collapse into a catechismic depression I suggest that you do the math for me. Superman has kryptonite and I have the balance sheets on my student loans and the paid amount of money I paid to my analyst. Now, if you asked him, and I suppose you can’t because he is not legally allowed to talk about me with you, but if you did and he could, he would say that he was way underpaid and that is true. I was not an easy client. I was secretive, highly sensitive and somewhat passively aggressively angry. But, that said, it was and is a lot of money to me.
I went Wednesday’s at 11 a.m. and Friday’s at 10 a.m. I would drive on the 405 freeway to see him and sit in traffic. I would search the streets of Santa Monica for someplace to park. I would see celebrities and would-be celebrities buying organic fruits and veg at the Farmer’s Market. I would walk blocks to his office among tourists and trendies who walked Third Street with an egalitarian lack of urgency. As I always feared I would be late I would weave and race to get past the men-children, who seemed to be a cliched array of screenwriters and homeless men who sipped Starbucks and sack covered bottles as they sauntered down Santa Monica, and the waitress-actresses who occupied Ocean Avenue.
I would sit in his shabby waiting room that looked like it was a 1962 Smithsonian time capsule of “Psychoanalyst Office, USA.” I would flip through his antiquated copies of Utne Reader and Psychoanalytic Journals that sat on his dusty oak credenza once I had flipped the light to let him know I was there. As I read about “The 50 most charitable companies to work for in Berkley” I would plan what I would tell him. When he would come out of his office with his 10 o’clock client we would begin our well orchestrated routine. I would avert my eyes so I would not see his last client. I don’t think I wanted to share him with anyone else.
Once his client departed he would give me a quick nod and somehow silently indicate that he was going to the washroom( his language, not mine). He repeated this ritual for 10 years which always made me wonder if he actually went to the bathroom each and every time or if he washed his hands or did some other psyche clearing ablutions in the men’s room. He would return and greet me as enthusiastically as his Nordic heritage and analytic training would allow. Then he would do the international hand gesture for “come on in.” I would rise and avoid eye contact with him as I carefully walked past him so that there was no danger that we touched. Not one thing about this changed in the 10 years that we met. He did update his furniture and eventually got a better clock radio that served as the privacy filter. Classical music was the only thing that kept me from eavesdropping on his 10:00. And, it was Mahler that kept his 12:00 from hearing about my mother complex.
I am not altogether sure if I can articulate what I got out of this therapy, well at least not in the context of this post, but I know that it gave me the experience of having a father like figure and there are times when I long for that again. At year ten of analysis I felt like I had worked on my father relationship adequately and that it was time to begin to deal with my mother. My analyst encouraged me to stay and I think he was genuinely sad to see me go. But, I felt a strong desire to start seeing a woman analyst and ultimately desired to quit analysis altogether and instead spend my free cash on important things like manicures and massages.
Before we moved to Chicago I saw him to tell him that I was leaving L.A. We briefly talked about my move and our work together. I talked about how difficult the work had been for me and how I imagine at times it was for him too. He didn’t disagree with me and that little sting has stuck with me the last few years. What I took with me from that session was that I was a difficult child. That was not an unfamiliar message for me. It was a painful one to get from my shrink.
Shrink? I am not sure why I called him that. I never called him that before. I think I did that for you. It was a way to minimize his importance and to show you a casualness about it that is completely at odds with the amount of time I kept going to him.
I called him a shortened version of his name that I added a “y” to for a little more casual irnoy. No, not to his face but when I would speak about him outside of the session. And, speak of him I would. I concocted entire narratives about his wife, his daughter and even what he did when he was not so lucky as to listen to me talk about my father and my mother and the “you won’t believe what she said this time(s)”…that filled our sessions.
Last night when He-weasel and I went to dinner I was reminded of a story about my father and for a moment I genuinely and actually missed him and for a moment I wondered what he would think of me. This may not sound uncommon to you. People do, after all, miss their deceased relatives. I, however, can count the times I have missed my father on my fingers and toes. That is when I think I started to move from random free floating desire to call my old analyst into a clear and conscious thought. I want to pick up the phone and dial his number, the number I still know by heart. I want to call him because I cannot call my father and I might want to have my state of babylessness, joblessness and dependency mirrored by him. Geeze, I could really could use some therapy.
When I read your post, Belette, I felt I was IN a therapy session (and that is a compliment). You are achingly clear about the reasons why you might contact him. Ten years is a long relationship, no matter with whom. Though he cannot replace work, a child or a lost parent, if you have personal growth goals and you respect his competence, he could help with that.
I think everyone could use a little therapy to be totally honest. I could use some for sure! The human psyche is such a delicate and complicated thing that it is nice to have a trusted person to guide you through it, or even just listen as you discover things within it. I think that if you are experiencing an inclination to call him, that you should call him. However, since you expressed a feeling of being ‘stung’ when he did not disagree that you were difficult, it may be a good thing to find another therapist. You could start fresh and have a new relationship with a therapist, one not so colored by the past.
Thank you so much for sharing these thoughts and feelings. It is nice to see that I am not alone! I think we’re going to be ok though!! I’m going to have to visit my father very soon just so that I can stop by for coffee with you!!
You know, I don’t think I could leave a snarky shoe comment this time.
You can spin a wonderfully detailed story, regardless of shade of the underlying emotion which is always – frustratingly, no? – simultaneously inscrutable and clear as day.
Do you know how much I loved this post? Again, I cannot adequately write what I am feeling. Thank you for the courage to share this corner of your life. I think we all are so hard on ourselves, so it takes others can see things in us that we can’t.
I wish that I could remedy for you yours sense of failure. But I know until you come to terms with that yourself, no one can make it better.
Even though I made a concious choice to stay at home with my children; and let me say that I would never make another choice if I had it to do over again; that I sometimes feel a failure because I did not use my intellect in an external capacity. But what I know is that I used that intellect in bringing up my children.
You have so many accomplishments. Your occupation is one I wished to have had, but didn’t. I could say I feel a failure about that. You have a wonderful relationship with a great weasel. You have traveled and lived all over, so you have those views and vantage points that others don’t have.
You are very eloquent, and have a multitute of readers that wait everyday for your posts.
I am not sure that I can find the failure in your life anywhere. Betrayal by physical body, yes, but certainly not under your control.
Have you read “Molecules of Emotion” by Candace Pert? That is a fascinating read, one you might like. Her theories of emotion are quite interesting, and I think she is right on.
What did you think of Dabrowski? Did you think I was a nut. See how I skip around, darn it my mind works much faster than my fingers.
I might ask why you are ashamed that you are not working. Why do you feel that you have to do that? You may not be getting paid to write, but you are probably warming up for when you do. Being paid does not in itself deem something valuable. Well maybe in our culture, but we both know it’s not true.
Maybe you are a support for He Weasel, maybe you are storing up energy and nurturing yourself while you deal with issues concerning you. One only has so much psychic and physical energy, and it is different for every person. I could write on and on, but I want.
In closing, you are perfect just the way you are.
Wow, excellent post, and better than some short articles than I’ve read in The New Yorker. You should be charging us for this stuff! Seriously, though, it was very evocative. I dabbled in “counselling” off and on for a few years, but never felt like I got much out of it, except for the one time my therapist told me my mom sounded like someone with Narcissistic Borderline Personality Disorder. The “maybe it wasn’t me after all” high lasted for several weeks.
I felt a bit like an emotional voyeur reading your post. I have to say I was rather engrossed. I can understand why you would want to contact your shrink again.
One more thing: Because a therapist does not disagree with a client who calls herself ‘difficult’ is not, I assert, a reason to stop seeing him or her. I have had counselors tell me I had my head up my butt and I have been eternally grateful. Does one want to buy a friend or do one want someone to be honest with you?
Duchesse: Thank you, I take at as a great compliment. And, it was my sensitivity, and my hesitancy and so much more that made it difficult work. I suppose what I would have liked for him to do was acknowledge why it was so difficult for me. But, he is only human.
I don’t think I want to start to work with him again—I do think I might want to see him again. He will always be an important person to me and I want him to know the Cliff Notes of my life.
Eloquent as ever. The need to talk is implicit in us all I feel. My Daughters see a Homoepath, who may not be a councillor but she most definitely fulfills that role for them. They count the days until their next visit, she provides a very calm mooring for them, that is free from the emotional ties that come with talking to friends and family.
No matter how little money I have I always try to have a visit booked even though the journey is now horrendous as we have moved many miles away.
If therapy can help, even a small amount with how you are feeling right now then it must be all to the good.
Shar: I totally agree that every one could use some therapy. It is impossible for us to fully know ourselves without a mirror and I see therapy as a mirror that allowed me to really understand myself and to have better understanding of unconcious complexes that were ruling my life. It was a great investment and yet, for the most part, I feel done with that phase of my life. And, yet, another part of me wonders if I will ever be done.
Shar, I really appreciate your kind comment. And, no, you are most certainly not alone. I really look forward to your visit.
Randal: Thank you! My greatest hope with my writing (other than to be published in the New Yorker) is to create a duality of experience: funny/sad, detailed/vague, inscrutable/clear as day. Really, thank you.
Julianne: I cannot tell you how lovely it is to wake up to all these lovely comments. It feels better than an hour with my analyst. And, I so appreciate your very kind, generous, and supportive comment. Hugs to you.
That sense is of failure is so complex. It is my father’s failure to become what he wanted. My mother’s failure to have a father. It was my failure to get the love I needed from my parents. On and on I could go. And, yet, I know I am not a failure. I have list in my journal of all the accomplishments I have achieved. But, the complex of failure is one that can overtake me. As I am not out in the world at present that complex can be activated by too much time alone.
You clearly know that you succeeded as a mother and that you made that choice, but there are aspects of yourself that you clearly want to explore. That is information and definitely not failure. It is a desire in you that you clearly give expression to in your interest in attachment theory and the like.
I have not read “Molecules of Emotion.” I read the outline of Dabrowski, that you sent, and it was very interesting. Is there a book of his that you can recommend as a good place to start?
I think the shame comes that my father valued achievement/money/fame so highly and that by his standards without an income I would have no value. I KNOW it is not true. But, as I am in a transition and do not have the things that shore up my psyche, I am more vulnerable to that old complex.
When I was getting paid to write my writing was not going as well as it is now and it certainly was not as satisfying. Blogging has helped me with my writing in a way that analysis never did.
And, I think you are right. I am a support for He-weasel and we are both in a state of transition and I understand why I am were I am emotionally. I do think that wanting to see my old analyst is about wanting to feel rooted and grounded here and it has been a very long time that I have felt roots.
Julianne, thank you again. How much do I owe you for the session?;-)
Deja Pseu: Thank you so much. Truly, you don’t know how much your very kind compliments mean to me.
Learning that it wasn’t you and understanding your mother sounds like it was worth knowing, especially of it felt accurate. I spent the first year of analysis gobsmacked that he could explain to me why my parents were the way they were. It was so liberating to know that it was not my fault.
You really made my day. The New Yorker is my holy grail so to hear that you think that something I wrote is better than some pieces in the bible of literature! Le sigh! This is what I will write in my diary. “Today, Deja Pseu said my post was ‘better than some short articles than I’ve read in The New Yorker.’” You laugh. But, I swear that it is going in my diary.:-D
Tatting Chic: Always so good to see you. And, it is so ironic as I was so secretive and cautious when I was in therapy and here I am blurting it all out on the blogosphere for all to see. Thank you for your comment. I do want to see him and there is another part of me that doesn’t. It seems that is the part that is making the decisions, at least for today.;-)
Indigo: Thank you! And, so lovely that your girls have a place to go to talk. They are very lucky. Some mothers might not understand that their daughters need to talk to someone other than them. But, it is so healthy. The more people in our lives we have to turn to the more we develop an inner sense of resilience.
As much as I spent on therapy I know without I would have never had the ability to go to grad school or do countless other things that may some day turn into cash. So, I do think therapy is a good investment. At other times I wish I had all the money I spent on it in a high interest savings account.
I think I am going to give myself another week before I make the call. It is too important to not give myself the time to think about.
Thanks, Indigo, for adding so much to the conversation.:-)
Belette- do you realized you bould BE a therapist? Of the people I know that have been to therapy, most of them are extremely articulate and knowledgeable about motivations, family of origin, and many many other issues. Because of that, they would make good therapists themselves. Now, I’m not suggesting you switch careers or anything, but I imagine you’d be a very good friend to have…in person.
Tessa: So very sweet of you to say. It is a fascinating field and I am absolutely intrigued by the unconscious. When I was in analysis I used to jokingly say that I was getting a PhD in me.
I look forward to meeting in person one day—perhaps when He-weasel and I get down south to the Del.:-)
Amazing post. I think your therapist would be impressed!
Very evocative post. You are brave to let us peek into your psyche.
It is sad to think that your parents, for entirely different reasons, will never comprehend the havoc they’ve wreaked. It sounds like you’ve done a great job at getting out from under their damage.
xoxo –
Marsi
WendyB: Thank you. And, strangely, I think his feelings might be hurt that I think his office was shabby. Once I wrote a poem about him and he seemed a little wounded that I found his Rockports less than attractive.
I do wonder if he read this if he would recognize himself. I feel pretty sure he would recognize me.
Marsi: Thank you. And, as a writer, all I have to offer is my psyche. I fear I am not very creative( hence there is no fiction) so honesty and self-exposure are all I can offer.
And, without all that trauma my parents gave me I doubt I would be who I am today. I probably would have a normal job that involves 9-5, pantyhose and 401K’s. Perhaps the trauma gave me some gifts after all.;-)
xo
Writing Talent: Miss Belette haz it. Fiction is certainly not the only “creative” writing. Your blog is crative, honest and beautiful.
Miss J has the same thoughts ocassionally of calling her former therapist, Miss Erica. Miss J didn’t see her for nearly as long, nor has she not been seeing her as long as Miss B has not been seeing her therapist. But she understands the impulse, the desire to reconnect. And the reasons she doesn’t do it. “Nope, I’m not where I want to be when I see him/her again.” Miss J wonders if that moment will ever happen.
Miss Janey: Le sigh! Thank you, Miss Janey. I am blushing at your ego boosting comment. Really, this is sooo much better than therapy. I could only rarely get my analyst to say nice things about me. Well, he may have said them but I never heard them.
I do fantasize that there will be a day when I have published a great essay and I will have lost 15 lbs. and I will be glowing with confidence—that is the day I will call him and I will see if he can see me that day as I am not sure if I could maintain that kind of perfection longer than 24 hours.
I think Miss J is right, that moment may never happen.
Psychoanalysis is essential. Love Freudians too!!
xoxox,
CC
What can I say, everyone needs a therapy in one form or another… surely I need someone to hear me out/pour out….instead of bottling them all inside…hee!
Anyhow I dedicated a post to you for being so sweet & supportive… hope you like it… It's in my "barbie FINALE" post. Thank you again for your kind spirit… you don't know how it means to moi!
I admire the insightful person you are. I learned a lot about you today.
So, if we’re doing such a good job of replacing your therapist, when do we get paid? Ahem.
Perfection is overrated. If you were perfect, you wouldn’t feel any angst or self-doubt and thus your narcissism on steroids – ’cause I’m fully in the camp of regular narcissism – would keep you from blogging amongst us little people. So, go for the perfect hair and shoes, but don’t YOU be perfect.
You’d want temples and worshipers and though I can’t speak for others, I don’t feel like hauling blocks of marble around.
CC: I would love to see a Freudian inspired fashion post. You could totally do it. You have an amazing gift for pulling together a fashion story. I am absolutely serious!
I know, I can become an internet therapist! Why didn’t I think of that?
What you wrote is why I am so obsessed with attachment theory. YOU did not fail to get the love from your parents. For whatever reason, they failed to give to you the love you needed in a language you could understand. Perhaps they were not loved as children, and did not know how to love.
I so comprehend what you are saying here. My son and I were walking on a trail one day, and I said ” I need to ask you this; If something happened to me and I was not here, could you say that you felt loved by me?” He told me yes, and that was what I needed to hear to feel successful as a parent. I do think this that older generation felt that success was measured in a different fashion
I also happen to think that you are extremely creative. I have written more in email that I don’t want to say here.
Someone needs to tape up my fingers so I will quit typing. Do you see what I am truly passionate about? It’t not really clothes.
Lenorenevermore:Therapy comes in soooo many forms and I think I might have tried them all. At the moment, writing and blogging seems to be my therapy.
You are such a sweet heart. Thank you for the oh so kind and lovely dedication. You are too kind!!!
Gros Bisoux!
ENC: Thank you for your always very kind and gentle reading.
Randal: Your payment is my writing. Just so you know I was LOL when I wrote that.;-)
Self-doubt and narcissism (of the man do I suck more than anyonelse, variety)is the fuel for my creative fire. Should I ever achieve total mental health I feel sure I would never write again. So, that is definitely not the goal.
Oh, and I did some research, I found some marble and temples on wheels that make for easy moving. I’m just sayin’…;-)
Julianne: You so could. You know I am serious.
There were people who took care of me, they shall remain nameless and genderless, who were alcoholic, narcissistic(in the diagnosable sense), and they were not capable of loving themselves or anyone else.It wasn’t me. After all, I seem to be lovable( He-weasel and friends will attest).
It is such a testament to the kind of mother that you are that your son feels your love. What a gift you have given him.
I always knew that you were passionate about more than clothes. But, hey, clothes can be deep too!!;-)
And, I appreciate you mirroring back my creativity and I also want to thank you for your heartfelt responses to this post and for taking the time to email. I am deeply touched.
Big hugs! xo
interesting and well-done post! it takes a lot of patience to re-live for your analyst aspects of your life. much less to re-weave parts with him into a coherent narrative. i congratulate you. i think i lack that patience. i saw a shrink once in NYC and decided after one session riding back on the 6 of its cost-ineffectiveness
[maybe she was a bad one to start, but i thank her now] but it came down to a resolute acceptance of these ineluctable givens: the fragmentations, imperfections, dysfunctionalities as ‘normal’ realities of MY life… [ie. they could NOT possibly have been otherwise...] is that fucked-up?
i mean, i love a pristine + white richard meier building but i LOVE the bumps and imperfections and accidents of a RAKU pottery more!
…a most excellent friday post!
SUR: Merci mon ami! I had never thought about it in terms of patience before–that is a really interesting point. When I started analysis I had a profound need for understanding. I wanted to make meaning of my life and I wanted greater access to my creativity. Block was something I used to really know. Now I understand that the block came out of the desire for perfection.
If in one session with her she gave you all that you shared, it was quite a session. Seriously, it took me years to accept the
“fragmentations, imperfections,
dysfunctionalities as ‘normal’ realities of MY life.”I think I am still learning that.
One of the gifts that analysis gave me was to tolerate the tension of the opposites. In one hand is the desire for perfection. In the other hand is my sense of total inadequacy. Being able to simultaneously hold these two tensions a third option occurs, I developed an acceptance or even an appreciation for my perfect inadequacy.
So glad you enjoyed and I really appreciate your sharing your Shrink story.
And one more thing…….
This blog is not about France anymore, and look at what has happened. I told you so
.
Julianne: I have no idea what this blog is about any longer. I fear there is no theme to the pudding.
And, you absolutely did tell me so. On that note, He-weasel has a “I told you so” dance, an “”I was wrong dance” and a “happy dance.” We dance a lot!;-) Really, we have so many dances that we could start a dance troupe!;-)
Your reminder of “I told me so” made me wish I could see you do the dance.;-)
Thanks for believing in me when I did not believe in myself.:-)
xo
Ma belle, thank you so much for sharing with us these deep and personal things.
Ten years is so many time in a relashionship no matter the kind of it, so he surely marked you.
You feel like calling him, why are you feeling that? Do you need HIM or what he represents? Do you need to talk (well you blog…)or do you need to hear? Would he fullfield your needs?
Just asking….
I think you’ve already asked this to yourself and also answered.
You’re conscious about your troubles.
A little therapy is always good for everybody to balance.
I think that you being awear may act in the way you need.
In doubt “Follow your heart”…
Much love.
xoxo
What an articulate post LBR!
Who doesn’t need therapy, really?
Good that you recognize your less-than-perfect childhood helped create the interesting person you are today. This gives me hope for my own children. I fear the crazy-mommy memoir they may write some day!
Seeker: I just miss him. And, I miss sitting in his chair and I miss the profound insights he would sometimes have and I miss the heightened significance he gave the smallest nuance of my life. I miss the way we would talk about his plants for the first five minutes and how that bought me time before I had to say something real. I love him in a way that one loves their analyst and I imagine that I always will.
I am so struck by the profound questions you ask. And, I am not sure if I have answers to them But I promise you I will sit with the questions. I am especially stuck by the question of “Do you need to talk or to hear.” Ugh, I fear I need to hear and it is not as likely I can be sure that I will hear what I need to. If I needed to talk that would be much easier. You, dear Seeker, are a wise one.
Thank you so much for the questions and your always supportive comments.
Abraços e beijos
Iheartfashion: Speaking of articulate, I have sent your Palin post to nearly all of my friends and all of them have raved about your writing. Really, you are always fantastic but I LOVE that post!!!
Okay, back to me.;-) Thank you for your very kind compliment. I absolutely think that the worst thing for a child is a perfect childhood. If you have any doubt about this please read “The Soul’s Code” by James Hillman. Fret not! And, I cannot wait to read their book about what a wonderful and exciting life you gave them and how you took them to Italy and you dressed so beautifully.
I cannot even begin to imagine having the wherewithal, both in terms of geographical stability and financial resources to frequent the same psychotherapist for ten years. That is, from my cheapskate, rolling stone life experience POV, an enormous accomplishment in and of itself. Kudos. What a gift to yourself you gave.
Reconstructing the memory of your long time therapist and the significance that he held for you and blogging about him in exactly the way you have done today seems to me to be the natural next step in an evolutionary process of resurrecting your self after the devastating blow dealt to your self perception by the gestalt of experiences you have had associated with infertility. What I mean to say is that it is like a gift you are giving to yourself, again.
I hope that my words in no way wound. I am choosing them very carefully.
When my mother shot herself in the right temple in an anteroom to her little studio in SF, the bullet went straight through her brain and right into my daughterhood killing two broads with one tiny bullet.
Afterwards, it took me some time to find the moving images of The Terminator 3′s shattered-to-smithereens alien whose silver shards melted into a pool of mercuryesque material and slowly rose to stand, as ferociously new as ever, once again amidst the chaos.
I walked out of the theater into the light of day still clutching my Valium and Vicodin bottles but I took with me an epiphany concerning “the resurrection” that, due to my pagan upbringing, was not welded to the Christ story and I understood two things viscerally–there is such a thing as the resurrection and I was going to experience it.
My resurrection, that time, from that devastating experience, would be wrought by me, as yours is in the process of being re-wrought by you. Just keep writing and following Ariadne’s thread. We are all right here with you.
I also gave myself a permission to not believe in the future. However, I inserted a trick which consisted of stating that I did not any longer believe in the future but many other fools (at that moment in time) did so I would simply latch on to the tail of their white cotton dress shirts and hang on for dear life, assuming that one day I would wake up “in the future” and there I would be, whether or not I “believed” in it.
I took your post quite seriously and have commented accordingly. If my comment is all wrong, too long, beside the point, or objectionable for any other reason, please exercise your right to use the “reject” button on it.
Just. keep. writing.
//Geeze, I could really could use some therapy.//
…and in lieu of that …. there is beer.
Any friend of Randal’s is a friend of mine. Thank you for your comment, too. Salinger rocks, but Sierra Nevada is a better beer.
y’all stop by any ol time!
LFA: First let me say that I would never intentionally delete yours or anyone else’s post, especially one that is so profoundly heartfelt, honest and almost breath taking in its vulnerability. Truly, all the comments and responses are like pieces of patchwork quilt that I will always treasure.
When I started analysis it did not feel like a choice, it felt like a calling and not one that I could refuse. I am sure that sounds fairly dramatic. But, at the time it was. I had lost 10 people ( lost is a euphemism for died) in one year and I knew I wanted to write and I couldn’t and I knew that I wanted to cry and I couldn’t seem to. It never felt like a luxury and yet at times it was totally impractical and our money could have been better spent on things like food. My psyche did not see it that way.
As I am sure you know, as you read my blog with regularity, I am a big fan of goals. This Monday I wrote on a piece of paper “more depth and rawness in my blog.” I didn’t know what it meant, but I knew I had been hanging out at the shallow end of the pool and I knew that is not where I want to be.
This post was me swimming in the deep end. And, I really agree, I feel I am reclaiming myself out of the ashes of all the baby shit and I am working on redefining myself without the fantasy, longing or even out of the grief of baby.
There is nothing about your thoughtful comment that wounds, rather I feel honoured that you approached my blog with such keen eyes and a compassionate heart.
I am almost too stunned to speak about your mother. I know you have a gift for metaphor so I am not sure of her death was a literal one or a less literal one. Either way, I feel the impact of her death on you whichever it was and I am sorry beyond words for how you have suffered.
Have you read Jung’s book Answer to Job? I think you would like it. He talks about the archetypes of the resurrecetion and crucifixion as well as the Job Myth. The one part of the myth that I still struggle with is the redemption that Job receives for his suffering. I am not sure I am there yet. In time, no..I am not ready to believe in redemption. All of my grief and loss did strip me of hope. I am almost grateful for that.
Thank you, dear Francamericaine, I am deeply touched by your comment and your encouragement.
I look forward to the day when I can give you a hug in person and tell you how truly touched I am by your comment.
Many hugs.
Okjmm: Hey, thanks for stopping by and even with a beer in hand. So kind of you! I love-love-love Salinger. And, actually, I met his ex-wife who is a Jungian analyst. How is that for the circle is now complete? If only I could have gotten a horse reference in there somehow. Hope you come back again and visit.
What an amazing post. I felt like i had stumbled upon your private diary and shouldn’t really be reading it. You really bared your soul. I have no words of wisdom or good advice, just my admiration and best wishes.
I’m inspired
x
Not Super Mom: Thank you so very much. I am glad you came by and took the time to read and to comment. It is a bit scary when I do posts like this that are even more me and more personal than other posts. The lovely comments, like yours, go a long way in ameliorating my anxiety. Merci!
Lizzy: Thank you! xo
very powerful.
Kristen: Thanks, sweets. And, I appreciate your kind comment from yesterday. Big hugs!! xo
@ LaBeletteRouge:
I come from a culture where we do not see psychotherapists. Indeed when I grew up, I am sure there were none. Recently I have tried to find a good therapist, in fact a cog-behav therapist for somebody I know in India, and failed. What we do do in India is get along, ‘adjust’ (a word you will hear often from Indians) and compromise.
You wrote this post a day after my long-dead mother’s birth anniversary. However people’s experiences of sorrow and coping are widely variable. I once had a conversation with a cog-behav psychologist friend of mine which went as follows:
She: I miss my mother.
Me: I understand.
She: No, you don’t. Yours died when you were 4. You have no memories. Mine died recently and I have memories and they make life harder.
Me: (Smile) Bravo! You are the psychologist here but may I say, don’t compare sorrows? And at any rate, don’t go into such a comparison, expecting to come out the winner, because it isn’t a victory of any kind.
In an odd way, she is right. But I like to have the last word in arguments
The girl can’t help it.
That set aside, I can only say one thing from my experience of a dead parent. We cannot resolve things with them; but what we can aim for is to be the people they might not mind being parents of. I am quite certain, that my mother would think me, as I am now, pretty cool.
We are, whether we like it or not, the imprints of the parents’ genes. I know I am in ways I do not care to acknowledge. But it is fun to know I have the same food allergies as my dad (yes, fun, I know!) and that I have the same cushion-fluffing predilection as my mom.
And on the baby thing, I do not mean to make light of it but here is Larkin to bring you a smile:
They fuck you up, your mum and dad.
They may not mean to, but they do.
They fill you with the faults they had
And add some extra, just for you.
But they were fucked up in their turn
By fools in old-style hats and coats,
Who half the time were soppy-stern
And half at one another’s throats.
Man hands on misery to man.
It deepens like a coastal shelf.
Get out as early as you can,
And don’t have any kids yourself.
Shefaly: I am always delighted to see you and to read your comments and posts. I don’t know what it is like to lose a mother, I feel sure it is very different than losing a father. I am not sure why I am sure but I am. I know it would have been much harder for me if my mother went first.
I can feel my families impact on me both genetically, archetypally and even pathologically—but all in all I am grateful for surviving it and for the person it made me today. I share hay fever and all manner of allergies with my father. I share my face with my mother and her propensity for dissatisfaction.
I adore the Larkin piece you shared. Indeed there were people in funny hats who made my parents the way the way they were.
I know there are Jungian’s in India and I also know a few Jungian analyst from India who practice in Wisconsin and in Northern California.
Here is some contact info for you:
The India Association of Analytical Psychology
President: Kusum Dhar Prabhu
E-mail : seres@vsnl.com
Regional Centers
The Jung Center Bangalore
102 Defence Colony
Bangalore 560038, India
E-mail: thejungcenter@rediffmail.com
Director: Kusum Dhar Prabhu
India Jung Center
Dept. of Psychiatry,Ward E1,Civil Hospital
Ahmedabad 380016
India
E- mail: indiajungcenter@rediffmail.com
President: Dr. Bipul Kumar Sinha
IAAP Liaison: Ashok Bedi, M.D.
ashokbedi@pol.net
Thanks for the post and for sharing some of your story. I am grateful for the synchronicity of the timing and am happy that it led you to sharing some of your loss with me. You know what they say about a burden shared and all that.xo
p.s. If you end up going into analysis I hope you write about it!;-)
I am so fortunate to have been privy to therapists at a few key times in my life. Right now is one of them. At the university they offer free therapy and while it is usually for a limited amount of time, I have been going for an extended period and they keep letting me return.
Even though I am not extremely attracted to my therapist physically, I wish I could marry him sometimes. We get along wonderfully; it’s his job to focus on me and I soak it up, I suppose. I even told him this. I decided on this time around to be completely honest. I think that has a lot to do with how successful I feel it’s been.
I loved reading this.
You know what I’m stuck sitting with my ‘Ryder cup watching’ husband and your blog is 1 million times more entertaining. I’m kinda feelign like I’d like to go and see the guy too. My favourite bit is the painterly view I have of the journey, parking and walk to the place.
I love the snippets of your life and to me you always seem so cheery, positve and witty. I always think it is so sad when ones parents are unable to express their love or communicate emotions that give confidence and worth.
I actually don’t think they do it on purpose and have no idea of the consequence.
Keep the memory, save your money and smile because we all think you’re great!
I hope you can find time to pick up an award on my blog!
I really enjoyed reading this post. It was so well written. Thank you.
I certainly agreed with one of the comments that this piece was better than ‘New Yorker’ articles on a similar theme.
Frieda: Thanks so much for sharing some of your therapy experiences. I so understand that desire for wanting to marry your therapist. I think the age difference and the issues that I was dealing with protected me from that fantasy.
You are very wise to be totally honest—not much can happen without that. I tiptoed and withheld. I think that is why the progress was so very slow.
Thanks so much for your comment and compliment.
Make do: If you hate golf as much as I do—I really and truly feel for you. I hhhhhhate golf. I was forced to play by my father and it is now forever linked with him (pun was not intended, you know “links”).
I am so delighted you enjoyed this post. And, he is a great analyst. But, I think it would be a bit of a commute for you.;-)
I think I am going to go to Santa Monica next week and see if walking around there feels the same as it used to when I had an appointment.
It is always scary to post such personal posts as I figure no one is going to be interested. So, it is so very nice to hear that you and others have enjoyed this.
I agree, I don’t think my parents intended to leave me needing years of therapy. They did the best they knew how to do and really, I am grateful for the inner pull in me to survive it and to get help when I needed it.
I am smiling because of your lovely and encouraging comment. I would much rather spend my money on shopping with you than on more analysis.
Notsupermom: Thank you!!! So very sweet of you!!!xo
Della: Thanks to you I am going to have sweet dreams that David Remnick, the Editor of the New Yorker, came to my blog and offered to buy this piece and then offered me my very own weekly column. Hey, a girl can dream can’t she? And, if she can’t she probably shouldn’t get into analysis.;-)
Really and truly, I cannot thank you enough for your very kind comment. I am so glad you enjoyed it.
I really look forward to reading your blog. And, I am so happy you came by mine and took the time to comment. Please come back again soon.
Off I go to dream….
@ LaBelette:
Thanks for the names of those therapists. I shall pass them on. Although regular help and advice on real world problems – mostly from me – has helped that person a lot over the last 3 years.
I believe strongly in the human capacity for self-repair and human resilience. I have seen more evidence of people coping with really difficult life events than not – perhaps an influence of first living in India and then in the UK
Both are largely stoic societies when it comes to personal emotions, even as the Hindi film industry dramas and British comedies put big, stylised and always extravagant displays of emotion in front of all to see.
As for my ever going into therapy, no therapists should hold their breaths or they would suffer brain damage due to oxygen deprivation.
Although I have close friends who are clinical practitioners and academics (inc one at Harvard Med) in this area, I have never believed in it. I am terribly cynical about it and I view the whole area of “talk therapy” as pseudo-science, much to the chagrin of the said friends. Indeed there is a considerable body of evidence that sympathetic close friends, who can make time, are as much benefit as – and far more fun and definitely cheaper than – therapists. So as far as I am concerned, no therapy, ergo no writing about it 
That said, I do see a rise in the incidence of mental health issues in India – mostly depression – arising from the rapid change in the structure of the society and family networks. It is hard to predict where that will take the Indian youth. Ours is a very competitive and judgmental society and people have to cope, there is no alternative. Most can’t afford therapy even if they think they need it. C’est la vie!
Oh on the golf front i have to confess I’ve never palyed it, probably never will and couldn’t care less about it but I do want the europeans to win only ‘cos the americans are called Boo and Hunter – sorry! But i bet the Americans to win, my prize is sex all week! It makes me smile….
Shefaly:I share your belief in the human capacity for self-repair and human resilience–and yet sometimes we can best activate that capacity in relationship. And, the kind of objectivity that is available in therapy is not always possible with friends and families. That said, friends and certain family members can be very therapeutic.
LOL @ “no therapists should hold their breaths or they would suffer brain damage due to oxygen deprivation.”
Therapy is not for everyone. It was for me, for many years. I am not sure it is something I want to do now. But, in time that may change.
In the book, “Noonday Demon” the author makes a great case for the cultural causes of depression. And, the author would, I imagine, not at all be surprised to hear that as India continues to grow and prosper there is an increase in depression.
Thanks so much for adding so much to the conversation.
Make do: Boo and Hunter? really? It would have been funny if it had been the trio of Tiger-Boo-Hunter. It would have been like a story in names. I am rooting for you. Go Europe and yay for sex!
aw. we’re all feeling that way. me? personally, i know i could use some therapy, too. but i still don’t get the time. or perhaps i’m not ready yet.
glad i met “blogging” or else, i don’t know.
anyway, love reading this post of yours. i can relate to it. =]
Autumn: Therapy only takes an hour a week. But, I know what you mean.
And, I so I hear you, blogging is very therapeutic.
Thanks so much for visiting and taking the time to comment.:-)
I am falling more in love with this blog – this was such a touching piece.
On a lighter note – I always contend that retail therapy is cheaper than the real kind. xx
Pretty Face: You are so very kind. I am really pleased you like this post. And, I thank you for checking out a few of my older pieces.
I’ve just come across your blog and am enjoying reading it immensely…
I thought I would share with you, I’m a trainee psychotherapist who has a “difficult child” client, whom I care about and the fact that I describe the relationship as difficult is in many ways a reflection of my caring for them, not as a criticism of them… Hope some perspective from the “other side of the couch” helps….
Anony: I am so delighted you found my blog and decided to look at past posts. So very nice of you to comment and share a little of your experience. Your perspective does help, it so kind of you. Thank you. I hope you come back and visit again soon.:-)