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Monthly Archive for July, 2010

Eight things about me, because ten is so predictable

Published on July 30, 2010 in Dreams, Meaning Making, Psychology and Quotidien. 85 Comments Tags: , , , , , , , , .

I was only away from home for three days and yet it feels like I have been gone for a week. I have so much to tell you and I just don’t know how to tell you it all without breaking out a list. Here I go:

1. So you know about the broken toe. But unless you are a Facebook friend it is unlikely that you know how I broke it. Wait for it….I tripped on my mother’s walker. I broke my toe and became immobile and dependent on the device that allows my mother to be mobile and independent. It’s like out of a dream. Only dreams don’t swell, turn purple and impinge my exercise routine.

2. Speaking of dreams, I had a dream last night that He-weasel and I were going on a 15-day trip to Paris. In the dream we were staying at a hotel that we have stayed at before. The concierge at the hotel was helping us plan the trip from the end backwards and a man interrupted us in order to make touristy plans. Huh? What does that mean? I woke up feeling happy. Dreaming of Paris happens mostly in my waking life. Dreaming of my favorite place on earth has to be a good thing.

Well, it turns out that Igor doesn’t totally suck at dream interpretation( sorry Igor for doubting you). His take on the dream is that I am *looking back* at how I used to make plans starting from the end. I over-planned. I wasn’t in the moment. I didn’t trust the process. I needed to know how things were going to end or I felt anxious. But I don’t feel that way anymore. I think he’s right.

3. I LOVED “Inception”—even Leo didn’t ruin it for me. Inception only looks like an action movie. It is REALLY a movie about a man with a negative anima complex and another man with a raging father complex. “Mal”(bad) is the negative anima figure who lives within Leonardo’s damaged psyche. Ariadne plays the architect of dream structures( in Greek myth she is the maker of labrynths) and is the depth psychotherapist to Leo. And Leo really needs help. You see, in depth psychotherapy we believe you have to do your own work first. If you don’t do your own work your own shadow material gets in the way and that is exactly what happens in this film. Leo’s character has not done his own work and hence is an unethical therapist who is projecting all over the place. I especially loved how this film illustrates that dreamwork can break up a complex. I hope that viewers of the film see that message and don’t get hung up on the idea of “inception”.

4. Went to a glamorous, fancy and frou-frou Beverly Hills salon to get my hair done. Why? I had to get my hair done and I can’t drive so I went to a salon across the street from Igor. He-weasel dropped me at Igor’s and then I went to the salon to lift my spirits and cover my roots. I went for the convenience factor because truth be told I don’t enjoy going to salons where I have to pay extra to get attitude. It also turns out that this salon was 75% attitude free and that is a real accomplishment for a salon in which Jose Eber is temporarily working. Just two chairs down from me was Mr. Shake Your Head Darling himself. He was, as always, in his trademark cowboy hat. And I overheard him talking to his assistant about what Elizabeth Taylor had Tweeted. Oh and Jose, the father of the Farrah Fawcett hairdo, looked at my hair. I could feel that he was just itching to tell me to shake my head.

The upside of my visit to the new salon: My hair looks great and my hair stylist, who was completely devoid of attitude and said darling things like “you look 25″ and “Your hair is the f-word, the f-word being ‘FANTASTIC’”, doesn’t know that I am a therapist.  Have I mentioned my new policy? I no longer tell service professionals that I am a therapist. I can tell you from personal experience that it is not at all relaxing to be massaged by someone who is telling you the details of their divorce. From here on out, I am a retired aeronautical engineer who is unable to discuss my work due to security policies.

5. Sometimes I test myself. The heartbreaking movie of staggering proportion, ‘Away we go” is on HBO on-demand. Every week or so I turn it on to see if I can watch it without crying. I can’t. I may never be able to.  That’s okay. Isn’t it?  I watched the last 15 minutes of the film the other day and I cried like a baby. Stupid babies, I hate stupid babies( I don’t really).

6. I have been trying to come up with new items for my 365 things that don’t suck about L.A. series. Summer is my least favorite season in L.A. and for that reason I don’t think you will see any new posts on this topic until Fall takes hold and the palm trees start shedding their frons, Wolfgang Puck is putting out pumpkin pizzas, and the Kardashian sisters take to donning autumnal toned micro-minis.

7. Pardon my discreet self-promotion: Did you see the new tag on my blog header? Dream coaching. If not, please take a look. Thanks. p.s. Special for my gorgeous and brilliant blog readers: Five sessions for $500. Discount code: Weasel. Offer expires Aug.31,10.

8. Oh, and just in case you don’t follow me on Facebook, I have posted a full-face shot with no camera obscura. So if you want to see what a Belette Rouge looks like come on over to Facebook and friend me.

Out of network

Published on July 27, 2010 in Quotidien. 30 Comments

1. At my Mom’s.

2. I have no Internet access.

3. Broke my toe.

4. Won’t be back until He-Weasel can pick me up. I can’t drive with the toe.

5. Miss you.

6. See you soon…. at least by Friday.


Therapist #3

Published on July 26, 2010 in Dreams, Meaning Making and Psychology. 63 Comments Tags: , , , , , , , .

When we lived in Las Vegas, I woke one morning and decided that I would begin Jungian analysis. It was a thought that came from nowhere. It was the kind of wanting that one usually has in the form of “I think I’ll have a bagel for breakfast.” It was that casual and without any antecedent. No one I knew was in Jungian analysis. Sure I had read Memories, Dreams and Reflections but that was long before this thought came to mind. Once I made the decision and before I ate the bagel, I got out of bed and went to the phonebook and I looked up “Jungian analyst” and there was a number there. That may not sound odd to you, but it is very odd indeed. It is Alice in Wonderland chatting with a white Rabbit odd. Want me to prove it to you? Go to your phone book and you do the same thing. I’ll wait here while you do….

You back? What did you find? Nothing. I knew it. Jungians do not advertise in the yellow pages–plumbers do; Jungians don’t. There is part of me that thinks I dreamt the whole thing. The whole thing was so crazy-surreal.  This Jungian analyst lived in another state and she flew in once a week to see her Vegas patients. Her office was in a bad 1960′s office complex. Her office was decorated in Victoriana and every surface was covered with lace doilies. There were even doilies on the arms of chairs. She dressed in a style that was equally antiquated. Clothes like hers are no longer made. Everything looked like vintage 1940′s—even her hair was from another time.  She wore it up in a kind of combination bun/chignon/modified rats nest.  And there was something about all of this old and antiquated stuff that surrounded her that was made even more odd by it’s context. Remember we were in Vegas. The Vegas where there are slot machines in the grocery store.

To get to Fronzy’s(not her real name. It was a one syllable name that I modified to sound more fun by adding a ‘y’) office I had to drive across the strip to the North side of town( the dingy side of town). I would pass tourists, and tour buses and billboards announcing Wayne Newton, Dolly Parton and Carrot Top and then I would drive by UNLV and park next to the Soup Plantation. It was all very surreal. Dali might have painted such a canvas: “Time traveling Jungian on the Vegas Strip” in oils and acrylics.

During my first session with Fronzy she explained that dreams were a big part of Jungian work. She asked if I had had any. I had. I had dreamt the night before about a snake. It was under my sheets. I was terrified. I woke up screaming. Fronzy asked me to tell her about my first memory of a snake. I told her a modified version of this:

Once upon a time there was a little Belette. She was an adorable little three year old (yes, I am saying that I was cute—but I am saying that because it was true. This is memoir, not a fairytale). Belette went out into the garden to play. Her mother was distracted and busy doing something other than watching what exactly what it was that Belette was playing with. That is until she noticed that Belette was playing with a big snake.  Then came excited screams and demands that the little girl immediately leave the snake alone and come to Mommy, “NOW!!!!!!!!”. So I did. And then my mother called the fire department, the police department and the Marines. Okay, maybe not the marines. It turns out that it was not the horrible Rattlesnake that my mother had reported to the 911 Operator. It was a King-snake. The Firemen explained to my mother that this was a good snake and that it would keep the bad snakes away. My mother didn’t care. She was terrified of the snake and wanted it out of her garden, “NOW!!!!”.

I don’t remember any other run ins that I had with snakes that would make me fear them. Just that one day in the garden turned my non-poison playmate  into a life long enemy. Actually, at first I was just afraid  of them but as I got older I was terrified. I couldn’t look at a magazine without having someone take a look to make sure their were no pictures of them. I couldn’t go into a pet store unless someone went in first to make sure that they weren’t selling any snakes. I had to ask people at the movie theaters if a film was snake-free or not. When He-weasel and I moved to Las Vegas I called the Chamber of Commerce to ask them how many people died of snake bites a year in sin city. The woman who answered the phone had the nerve to laugh at my question and warn me that the casinos were a much bigger threat than snakes.

I have had many snake dreams in my life, hundreds I would guess. As a child I didn’t have the Jungian tool kit to deal with them. I would just wake up screaming and terrified that there was actually one under my bed. I was so afraid that If someone would talk about a snake I would immediately worry that one might enter my dream life. Very often they would.

Fronzy, who sounded an awful lot like Charles Winchester on M.A.S.H., asked me in her hoity-toity way what snakes meant to me. I thought I just had.”Pretend” she instructed, “that I have come from another planet and I have never heard of this creature you speak of.” I thought to myself that her instruction didn’t take a big leap as she did seem as if she came from some old timey plane—a planet that hadn’t yet discovered modern technology like answering machines, synthetic fibers or even the wheel.

“Okay, they are animals without legs. They are unpredictable. That’s what I don’t like about them. You never know which way they are going. They terrify me. If I saw one I would die. They are my greatest fear.”
Fronzy said back in her superior tone: “Snakes are symbolic of a fear that you inherited from your mother. They are symbols of your greatest fears. They are not actually your greatest fears.”

In my work with Fronzy we never worked directly on my fears of snakes. She didn’t ever take my fear literally. She looked at my fears symbolically. Just three months later He-weasel and I went to a pet shop and there were snakes in a cage  right at the entry and I found myself uncharacteristically fascinated by them. I found them strangely beautiful. I stood in front of the cage and stared at them. Six months after that He-weasel and I were hiking in Big Sur and I were hiking and I saw four little snakes curled up in a nest. I pointed them out to He-weasel in VERY calm tones. He didn’t believe me. He knew of my terror first hand, on our first hike ever there had been a baby King snake on our trail. When I saw it I climbed him like a tree. So there was no way I could have seen four snakes and not be screaming. But it was true. I had seen snakes and I wasn’t screaming and I wasn’t climbing him.

I had a dream the next night. I was in my kitchen and there were lots of little snakes. Dozens of them. I was picking them up with my hands and putting them in small plastic Ziploc bags. I didn’t need Fronzy to tell me what the dream meant. My fears were now smaller. They could be handled. And they were contained.
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The illustration of the Dream Snake is by Editor. Thank you, Editor!!! That is one adorable snake.

You’re the BEST

Published on July 23, 2010 in Meaning Making and Psychology. 69 Comments Tags: , , , , , , .

While the title is certainly true this post is not about you—it is about positive projection. Remember last week when I wrote about the Snag that I went to school with? You remember, negative shadow projection? Quick reminder: Shadow projection is where the ego splits off  the aspects of itself that are unacceptable onto another person since the ego cannot tolerate to see these aspects in itself. Well, the ego tends to do the same thing with positive aspects. There are positive aspects of the ego that for whatever reason( usually comes from some mother or father complex) the ego can’t own and so it projects these qualities onto another.

This happens a lot when we fall in love. I am sure you know someone who has said something like this,” He is PERFECT.” And then there are a long list of all his highly lovable qualities: “He is the best at _______. He is the most  wonderful ________.”  Etc, etc. When I here someone saying all these wonderful things about another I tend to tune out the object(He) that they are speaking of and instead notice what the qualities that Mr. Perfect has that they so love about him. Why? Well, what they LOVE about Mr. Perfect are shadow aspects that they have split off from themselves and are now idealizing in him. It is possible that it is not even him that they love. What they love is that he is a container for all these elements that they haven’t been allowed to be. If she loves that he is an artist it is likely that she wants to be an artist. If it is intelligence that she prizes then at some point she learned that to survive in her family of origin that she had to split off her IQ into the shadow and hence the first guy who could do long division became the mirror for her intelligence.

Idealizing and positive shadow projection doesn’t sound so bad up front. It sure is a lot more socially acceptable than negative shadow projection. People wisely prefer to have someone think they are the cat’s pajamas than to have them be so irrationally irritated by them that they have considered smashing a guitar over their head( hypothetically speaking). But here’s the problem with idealizing and positive shadow projection, usually, after some time…often after there has been a big party and a white dress and registering at Macy’s for silverware and Crockpots, one or more of the parties in the legally binding contract figures out that he or she really isn’t so (fill in the idealizing adjective)___________. This is the beginning of what we psychotherapists in our fancy psychotherapasizing ways, like to call “withdrawing the projection“.

Withdrawing of projections can happen with jobs, institutions, friends, and even a lipstick. He/she/it is not all of the wonderful qualities you projected onto he/she/it. It can take longer with friends than with live-in loves as the more you are around someone the more quickly you realize they are not exactly what you have projected them to be.  A usual reaction to learning that he/she/it is not what you expected is disappointment, rage, resentment, anger, and perhaps even breaking some of that china you got as gifts and maybe calling on divorce attorneys.

But there is a real opportunity when the china is swept up and the temper tantrum is over, you get to see that it this was your projection and that it is you that is so smart, funny, artistic, or whatever else you projected onto he/she/it. That’s not to say that your friend/lover/or lipstick doesn’t have these qualities too and if they don’t that they may have other qualities worth staying legally bound or related to in some way. It’s just that they aren’t holding the projection anymore and you either have to own your wonderfulness or you have to find some other guy/girl/lipstick to be the new holder of all your projections. My recommendation would be to own your wonderfulness and stop the cycle of projection.

Do you want to know why 50% of marriages end up in divorce ? The answer is withdrawal of projection. You see, the real work of relationship begins after the shadow projections and idealizations have been withdrawn.  Most people don’t get there. It isn’t easy to see that you are so fabulous (and also not so fabulous which is what you learn when you are forced to see your negative shadow projections). And it isn’t easy to be in a relationship with someone who is just an ordinary and imperfect other who has also been projecting onto you. That early time in a relationship when he/she/it is holding all your positive shadow feels the most alive and exciting. It feels good to see yourself in this other and it ain’t too bad to have them projecting all of their good stuff onto you—until you really get that it is all or mostly projection and then it doesn’t feel so good.

It is my argument that as delightful as that “He is so perfect” stage is, the “I see myself and own my negative and positive shadow aspects and I love him for what he is and not because he is willing to hold my projections for me” is a MUCH better stage—it is a stage where you have integrated your shadow and you are able to love the other person for who they really are and not for what you need them to be.

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Best books on the subject:

A Little Book on the Human Shadow by Robert Bly
Marriage Dead or Alive by Adolf Guggenbuhl Craig
The Eden Project: In Search of the Magical Other by James Hollis
The Middle Passage: From Misery to Meaning in Midlife” by James Hollis

There are days when a list is the best I can do

Published on July 21, 2010 in Objects and Quotidien. 91 Comments Tags: , , , , , .

1. I am so happy that my fear wasn’t valid and that the affirmation that I used for the last five days was true: “And all shall be well, and all shall be well, and all manner of thing shall be well.” See, I was terrified that all would not be well. I was sure that all was going to be really unwell.  So I repeated the 14th century Christian mystic’s mantra  …”And all shall be well.” As I am an agnostic and don’t really indulge in prayer, Julian of Norwich’s mantra is as close as I get. I find Julie’s words to be strangely comforting. And Jules was right. It turns out that all is indeed well.

2. These blogs must be read, if I was a publisher I would publish their books. If I was Oprah I would make them my blog of the month and I would give them a new car or all of my favorite things in order to thank them for how much I enjoy their work.

Up and down town If you aren’t reading her blog, you must.  Go on. What are you still doing here? Go there now. Thank me later.
The Storialist Same as above. If you aren’t reading it, start now. Seriously. Why are you here? Go! Okay, you can stay until you have gotten through this post.

3. Laura Munson, my pal, and the author of This is Not the Story You Think it Is, is now a regular at the Huffington Post. Congrats to Laura!

4. Speaking of pals, I have recently taken to calling strangers “Tiger” and “Pally”. I don’t do it to their face. But when I think of them they no longer get the generic “Lady” or “Sir”. They are now, in my mind, “Tiger” and “Pally”.

5. I don’t usually enjoy day spas. All the nakedness and enforced relaxation can make me feel a little nervous and neurotic. But I am doing a spa day on Sunday. The thing I was worried about in #1 has had me seriously stressed. I am doing an 80-minute massage and a fango mud bath. I am trying to tell myself that this will be relaxing and that I won’t spend the session worrying that perhaps I missed a patch of leg hair when shaving or that I will fall asleep and a snore will sneak out.

5. For years I have heard that Clarins Beauty-Flash Balmis amazing. It’s true. Buy some. I put some on my face this morning and a few minutes later you wouldn’t have known that the only water I have had this last week was hidden in my super strong French Roast Coffee and that I haven’t slept more than a few hours in the last couple of days. I actually looked like a human,thanks to Clarins. This is as close to a miracle in a jar that is available without a prescription.

6. I am doing research on the Depth Psychological reason that animal prints are so consistently popular. In my research I found a book,  Dream Animals by my boyfriend, James Hillman, in which he writes about animal symbols. I can’t wait for it to get here. I am hoping that my Hilly can help me figure out the whole leopard print thing.

7. I get to see Igor tomorrow. I like Thursdays. I have nothing to complain about. Instead I am going to talk about how happy I am that I have nothing to worry about.

8. I guess I could tell Igor that when I watched “Bethenny’s getting married?” that I cried and that her baby happiness got to me. But then I would have to admit to watching “Bethenny’s getting married?”

9. I have decided to start doing some Dream Coaching. More details to come soon.    ( If you at all interested in the idea please let me know).

10. I went into Old Navy to return three tops in three colours. The savvy sales gal asked if there were anything wrong with them. I answered, “I think they fit kind of weird.” She answered back, “I think that you are a black lover and that these shirts were outside your box.” I answered back, “I think you’re right.”

11. My new JCrew cardigan that is making me want Fall to arrive immediately (actually I felt that way before. It is 98 degrees right now. I have had enough of this). And it’s on sale for $79.99 on the Jcrew website. I got mine in the store for under $50. Isn’t it purty?

12. I can’t wait to see “Inception”. I am not a huge Leo fan. Actually I have never enjoyed a single film in which he has starred. I am going to get popcorn and Junior Mints to enjoy during the film just in case I don’t enjoy Leo.

13. He-weasel and I  seem to have a summer tradition of watching British Mysteries. Last summer was Foyle’s war. This summer it is a marathon of Midsomer Mysteries.  What I love about this series: There is a Terrier, a Range Rover, a horse, and a tractor in each episode and these are all things I want or have. Actually I only have the Terrier. But I do want a Range Rover, a horse and a tractor. I also wouldn’t mind having an ivy covered house in Midsomer—a British accent would also be swell as would a father like Inspector Barnaby.

Little dream, big meaning

Published on July 19, 2010 in Meaning Making and Psychology. 106 Comments Tags: , , , , , .

If someone were to deliver a custom made gift and deliver it to your door and you couldn’t immediately open the package as it was a wrapped in a way that made accessing it somewhat difficult, would you throw it away? I think not. Well, it is my sense that is what we do when we don’t look at our dreams. We, I believe, are throwing away a custom made gift from our psyche.

When I start to work with a patient and I ask them about their dreams it is not uncommon for them to tell me that they don’t remember their dreams. I don’t ever let that deter me. First I instruct them on some simple ways that they might be able to remember their dreams and then I ask them about the last dream they had or the last dream that they remember. Often there is one that they can remember. However sometimes the client insists “it wasn’t a real dream, I don’t remember all of it—it was just a fragment”. To me hearing there is a fragment is the same as hearing there was an hour long dream that I wrote down in detail. Actually, sometimes the fragment is far better than a big dream. Why? Because one image or just one word can give profound psychological insight and offer more insight than a dream loaded with characters and transitions and multiple locations with more complexity than a Cecil B.DeMille film. Dreams that are epic in scale can be impossible to grasp and unknowable in their entirety.

Last night I had a dream fragment. Here it is, hold on, be prepared to be wowed by mythological symbolism that was last seen in the dreams of Hieronymus Bosch. Okay, maybe not quite that grand. I dreamt that I was on a Pilates reformer. Did I do too much buildup? Did I over sell the dream? Perhaps. However, even though this simple dream is low on character and content, it is a symbol loaded with info for those with the tools to unpack its secret.

I will start with my personal associations or the subjective level of the dream.
So what are my personal associations to a Pilates reformer? When I hear the word Pilates reformer this is what I think: I used to take Pilates. I liked it. I should do it again. I just got that Pilates CDs out of storage. It would be good to do them. If I added a few clients to my practice I would start doing private Pilates again. But I don’t really like Pilates with just anyone. I had a really great instructor. But she is back in Mexico. And I am sure I could never find another teacher as great as she was. She was getting a M.A. in somatic psychology so she really understood the psychological aspects of the body, of movement and blocks.

Now let’s move onto the objective level of the dream:
What exactly is a Pilates reformer? Pilates is an exercise program that was designed to heal/strengthen wounded dancers. It is a piece of exercise equipment that works on one’s *core*. It is a piece of equipment that promises to *reform* one. It is usually done in the context of one on one work. It is a piece of equipment that is not turned on—rather it is the users movements that activate the movement of the reformer, meaning that the energy of the movement is activated by the user. Many different kinds of exercises can be performed on the one machine unlike exercise machines such as treadmills or ellipticals which are designed for one type of movement. A reformer’s lines are linear. Up and down—straight lines. One can lay, sit or stand on a reformer. This work is about lengthening and strengthening. It is slow and focused work that emphasizes breathing, controlled movements and precision.

Where we are in our dreams is symbolically where we are in our psyche. The dream is saying that this is where I am now. It is not saying this is something I *should* do. It is saying *this is where you are*. The place my psyche is in is one that is working on my core. I am being “reformed”. According to Merriam-Webster dictionary “Reform” means to be made better. So where I am, in my psyche, and what is happening now is making be better. It is taking some work. It isn’t easy work. And it is work that takes assistance and it is slow and focused—it is done in private with the assistance of one who is experienced in understanding the body       (is this speaking of my work with Igor?). The reform work is strengthening my *core* and repairing what is damaged. Pretty nice dream for one that is just one sentence long. Huh?

Want to give it a shot. How about sharing a recent dream image (one word or more) and give it a quick association? I will happily share my associations to your dream image, if you would like. Or, if you would prefer, let me know what you think my dream means.

Lily in Daisy by Flowers

Published on July 16, 2010 in Lily. 35 Comments

Lily in her summer dress

Fifi Flower's Painting of Lily in her dress

When I posted the lovely picture of Lily on Facebook I never expected Fifi to turn it into a perfect painting. Isn’t my girl a gorgeous model? This isn’t Lily’s first portrait by Fifi. She did one of Lily back when she was just a puppy. Merci, Fifi!

I hope your weekend is filled with lovely friends, unexpected surprises, bright coloured blossoms, summer dresses and puppy dog kisses. Lily wishes you treats and tummy rubs.

Mirror, mirror on the wall, who’s the SNAGGIEST of them all?

Published on July 14, 2010 in Meaning Making and Psychology. 82 Comments

One of the first assignments I remember being assigned in grad school was to write a paper on a person on whom I had a negative  or shadow projection. Let me just clarify what what this means in case it has been a while since you took Psych 101. A negative projection would be the ego projecting aspects of itself that it has decided are ugly, unattractive or otherwise unacceptable onto another person since the ego cannot tolerate to see these aspects in itself. How one knows it is a shadow projection versus ordinary dislike is that when one is having a shadow projection one isn’t mildly annoyed—-one is highly emotional, inflamed or even crazed by a certain behavior or person. The more there is a lot of feeling around a person or behavior the more likely that there could be some shadow projection going on.

As soon as I heard the assignment I was sure who I was doing my Shadow projection paper on. See there was this guy, this S.N.A.G.( In case you don’t know what a S.N.A.G. is—it is a Sensitive New Age Guy) and I have never been a big fan of this archetype of man.  Truth be told, S.N.A.G.y guys drive me cuckoo for Cocoa Puffs (no, I don’t really want chocolate flavored cereal– it is just that they make me crazy). This Snaggletooth made me especially crazy. You see he didn’t call himself by his Christian name. No, that was far too mainstream. He didn’t go by a longtime  childhood nickname. He didn’t shorten his name from Michael to Mike or from Jonathan to John or Robert to Bob. No, no, no. This guy decided that it would be a good idea for him to give himself a new name just for his grad school experience. This is item number 122 that I wish I was making up. He chose to name himself after a thing in nature. I would tell you what that things is but then he might find this post and he would know that he was my Shadow projection and I am too kind of a gal to want him to ever know how crazy he made me ( even if it was just a projection).

The things that drove me crazy about him were many (not just his name that made him sound like a 1962 Hippy who took too much Peyote and smelled of too much Patchouli ): There was the fact that he was ALWAYS smiling. ALWAYS. And it wasn’t just an ordinary smile—it was one part cat-who-ate-the-canary and one part “I have achieved enlightenment and I smile at you in a way that says that I have pity and have Buddhic compassion for your non-enlightened state”. Every time I saw him smile I would meet this part of myself that I wasn’t very familiar with, it would think things like, “what the hell are you smiling at” and it would amp up its antipathy and anger if it had received too many smiles from him in one day and think things like “I’d like to knock that smile off your face.” I know—not a pretty part of myself to meet.  I was pretty embarrassed of my projection and I tried to hide it the best I could. But “Thing that exists in nature” did not make it easy for me. He  carried a guitar everywhere he went. He wrote songs that he felt the need to share with the class. He wore tie-dye. And he was ALWAYS smiling at me.

Mostly I just tried to stay away from him. Only he would, in the classroom setting, out of the blue read pieces of poetry as if he was Dante and everyone in the room was Beatrice. He usually chose a Rumi poem which seemed to have magical properties that would disarm the most militant professor into “giving space” for his poetic non-sequiturs. And to be fair, many people seemed to enjoy “Thing that exists in nature”. I felt something closer to nausea every time I saw him grab for his guitar.

So when the paper required me to look at what it was exactly about Mr. SNAGtastic that was like myself, I wasn’t at all pleased. Writing about him was the fun part; writing about myself was the hard part. Seeing how I was projecting onto him and discovering what I had in common with this guy was about as much fun as a relay race of a root canal followed by a 500 dash sprint to a colonoscapy followed by a swan dive into an afternoon of line waiting at the D.M.V.

Ugh, not enjoying this. This is still not fun. So what exactly do I have in common with this guy? Well, I am a BIG smiler. BIG. I smile a lot. I smile at everyone. I smile at people I know and people I don’t know and cats and dogs and even architecture. I smile a lot. I have even gotten some grief for my smiling. Once when I was walking down the street in Santo Domingo in the Dominican Republic some stranger shouted at me “You are really ugly when you smile”. That incident happened almost two decades ago and yet sometimes when I feel moved to smile I think of this guy who was likely one of the guys who graffitied  ”Yankee Go Home” on assorted public canvases throughout the city.

I think that like “Thing that exists in nature”, I am often not feeling so very happy under all my friendly smiles. I think that I was seeing in him that under all those teeth and poetry and songs that might best be saved for his friends who work at the Renaissance Faire, I think I could see his anger, anxiety and depression behind his happy face. My anger at him was really my anger at myself for all of the times that I would put on a good face  and a bright smile to mask what was really going on inside.

I am not blind to the irony that on my blog I now go by a name that exists in nature; I call myself Belette on this blog, which means weasel in French. I chose a pen-name for the anonymity it provided. I use that name as a way to protect myself. Perhaps that what he was doing. Maybe somehow using his real name made him feel vulnerable and in using the goofy made up name he felt more free to be himself.

Also, I think my aversion to SNAGs and all things woo-woo, is that I crave tradition, structure and things that have been tested over time . I find that so much of woo-woo lacks intellect and rigor and ethics and boundaries( things that I am highly invested in). I see a SNAG guy and I see a walking rebellion. I see a boy in a man’s body who will not grow up or get a job or be dependable. I see my Dad, yep…it all comes back to Daddy. My Dad looked very unlike a SNAG. My father was almost always in a suit and the closest he got to Patchouli oil was Aramis. But at heart my father was a child. He was a boy who wanted everything his way and who wanted to be the center of attention. My father didn’t pull out a guitar  as a means of garnering attention but he would tell stories and jokes and do whatever he had to do so that all eyes were on him. So much of my anger and outrage at “Thing that exists in nature” was really meant for my father.

Even after unpacking my projection, I can tell you that should I run into “Thing that exists in nature” , the guitar playing and SNAGy song writing would still drive me kookaloo-crazy. A 100-years of psychotherapy and a PhD in the subject could not cure me of that. Objectively somethings are just annoying.

p.s. Dear Thing that exists in nature: I know I can be really annoying too. Me in my J Crew clothes and my smiling and my anti-woo-woo eye rolling. I wouldn’t be at all surprised if you wrote your Shadow projection paper about me. I bet you said something in it about my obsession with the Smiths and how I always smell of French fig perfume. So if you are reading this, know that I know that I am not a total delight. Feel free to make fun of me calling myself a weasel. I would understand.

If you are at all interested in the topic of how Shadow projections work, I highly recommend Robert Bly’s Little Book on the Human Shadow. I must tell you that Robert Bly is as as SNAGY as they come—but he does know a lot about projection, Shadow and men who are stuck in boyhood.

This is not the blog post you think it is

Published on July 12, 2010 in Quotidien. 68 Comments

A week ago Friday I got a text message from Stephanie that she had a favorite new book that she L-L-L-LOVED and she made sure to inform me that this wasn’t hyperbole and how I had to get the book immediately. The funny thing is that earlier that morning I had been thinking of Stephanie when I was walking Lily.  I had been thinking of Mary Pipher’s memoir that she had mentioned twice in previous conversations and wondering if I ought to go get the book instead of reading the four other books that were sitting patiently on my bedside table waiting for me to read them.

There was something about the way that Stephanie talked about Pipher’s book that made me think that she was neither recommending it or not recommending it—rather she was giving me the Cliff Notes for the book. What I remember most about Pipher’s memoir was that she was totally overwhelmed by her fame and how having a successful book almost destroyed her. When you are a want-to-be author of a book it can be nice to read how horrible being successful is (yes, I am a horrible person and if there was a hell I would be going there because I suffer from occasional bouts of envy).

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The consequences of counterfeit on self-confidence

Published on July 8, 2010 in Meaning Making, Objects and Psychology. 67 Comments Tags: , , , .

The first knock-offs were not Rolex watches or Prada purses but rather copies of prehistoric caveman conquests. You see, back in the days when cavemen did all their shopping free range/ do-it yourself style it was only the bravest, fiercest and most successful hunters who wore leopard skin and animal teeth necklaces.  And the guys with mountain lion molar teeth necklaces had more social cache than any Polo wearing preppy could ever hope to have. The less brave and bold among our ancient ancestors adorned themselves with necklaces made from chicken bones or berries or rocks and through this low-risk accessory they would reveal a lot about their character and capacity to put a Mastodon on the table.

The chickens who settled for wearing chicken bones were less desirable to the most fertile, beautiful and evolved of the gene pool. If you are to take Schopenhauer’s word for it, these pre-historic women were looking for good providers. Such women would find the guys in the goat skin getups to be less desirable than the fierce hunters who were wearing the pelts of predatory animals (that is unless the man had a great sense of humor, were sensitive enough to share their feelings and/or had evolved enough to walk upright).

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About Me

My name is Tracey, aka La Belette Rouge. I am a psychotherapist and the author of Freudian Sip @ Psychology Today. I blog about psychology, my therapy, dreams, writing, meaning making, home, longing, loss, infertility and other things that delight or inspire me. I try to make deep and elusive psychodynamic concepts accessible and funny. For more information, click here .

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