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Monthly Archive for February, 2011

The Container

So you know how I often write detailed accounts of what I told Igor and what he told me in my sessions with him? Well, there is a school of thought that would say that by my doing that I am damaging the work and even impinging my growth. I have kept this idea in the back of my mind as long as I have been writing about my own personal therapy here on the blog and chose to keep it there, that is until now. Cheryl Fuller, on her brilliant blog Jung at Heart, wrote a post about the importance of container for transformation to occur in psychotherapy and it got me thinking and I felt like I needed to think about/write about this issue as a means of coming to understand exactly how I feel about this and to see if perhaps my writing about my own therapy is helping or hurting my work with Igor.

In case you don’t know about the idea of the “the container in therapy” here’s the theory: In Depth psychotherapy the relationship and the room that the work is done is understood as an alchemical vessel, a sealed vessel and as a container. According to this theory the change occurs because, in part, due to the container remaining sealed. The heat, tension and energy that happens within the therapy needs to remain in the container for change to occur.  There are many ways that the therapist works to keep the container sealed: a safe room that has a sealed door and doesn’t allow for others to hear what’s going on. The therapist doesn’t take calls during session. And the therapist’s use of confidentiality is another way the container  is kept sealed and safe and a place where change can occur.
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Three Types of Men: Foreign lover/Abusive father/Good father

Remember the post, the one from a few days ago, the one I was whinging about not having any dreams. In terms of daytime dreams I am still without one. Writing a book, having a baby, or moving to Chicago have not been replaced with the desire to open a tea shop or take up Bikram yoga. However in terms of night time dreams I have had two.

Dream number one was a bit on the X-rated side. I won’t go into lurid detail. I will just tell you that Javier Bardem and I were doing things that birds and bees and educated fleas do. What felt important in this dream was the level of connection Javier and I had. And Javier’s instructions to me felt VERY important. Javier was very keen on me “opening up to him”. It seemed that he was trying to open me up so he could fill me up(metaphorically). Please, stay with the metaphor—this isn’t about sex, it’s about metaphor—really. In the dream it felt like Javier and I were very connected and I trusted him and I did open up to him. I told Igor all of these associations.
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I <3 James Hillman

If you have been reading my blog for very long you know that I have a sizable and long-term crush on the father of Archetypal Psychology, Dr. James Hillman. I do. I can’t help it.  It is hard for me to write about him with out gushing like a tween writing about Justin Bieber on her Facebook page. He is cute and smart and super cute and funny and he is crazy-smart and super-cute. Okay, enough with the gushing.  But he is really cute. He isn’t cute in the George Clooney way, well not to most of you. But to me he is. What I find to be George Clooney attractive about Hillman is his spark, his aliveness and his profound intellectual curiosity and that all of that comes together in an 80-something year old package makes him even more attractive( most men in their 80′s lose their joie de vivre and find their bore de vivre).

The funny thing about my crush is that Hillman and I don’t share a theoretical orientation. I am most certainly not a person who practices in a way that Hillman would. I am not an Archetypal theorist or practitioner. I have no interest in being one,it is all a bit too loosey-goosey  and structure-free for me. I am, if I was to define myself, a Post-Freudian psychoanalytically oriented therapist. Hillman would find that a major turn off. He would, I think, see me as attached to interpretations and stuck on the impact of  drives and early childhood. So even though Hilly and I don’t share the same theories we do share a love of  love of philosophy, literature, mythology and theory. And the truth of it is that I am not into him for his theories. It is his passion that really gets to me. I am, at truth, a complete sucker for passion. Anyone who is bliss-filled is a person who makes it to my love list. I once had a professor who read Rilke quotes, pages of Anais Nin and he took role using the Kabbalah’s numerological system. This man was so passion filled that I count my days in his classroom as some of the best days in my life. Really, I would pay a whole lot of money to hear him read Rilke. His excitement on the subject was completely infectious. Don’t get me wrong, I wasn’t hot for teacher. I was hot for passion. And I still am. I don’t remember the details of  his class or even the name of it.  I am sure I learned whatever was the class objective was, but what I learned most from him was an appreciation for passion. I can smell it a mile away and when someone has it I want to be around it. One might say that I have a passion for passion.
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I’m something at Igor

I don’t know what I am at him. I want to say angry but that doesn’t feel right.

Here is what I know. When I started seeing Igor I wanted to go home. Back then I knew where home was. I hated where I was. I still wanted a baby even though I knew I would never have one. And I knew I wanted to write and publish a book. Back then there were things that I knew that I wanted.

Now, two and a half years later, I don’t want to move back to Chicago. Now I am okay with being where I am. That may sound like progress to you but to me, as of last week, I started to wonder if it was apathy, surrender, and a general loss of hope. I have no desire to have a child, I am too old and that ship has sailed. And I have absolutely no desire to publish a book. None. And I would like to blame that last one on Igor only all the credit for that lost dream goes to iPad. As soon as I started to read books on iPad I no longer had any desire to publish a book. To want to publish a book in today’s publishing world is like wanting to break into silent film just as the talkies came out. Books, I am afraid, are a dinosaur that is moving into hospice care ( Borders is shutting down stores and when you go into Barnes and Noble and they are selling a device that will soon make their store unnecessary, and Amazon is now selling more electronic books than actual books). As soon as I read my first book on an iPad I just didn’t care about publishing anymore, video had killed the radio star. I am already working in the realm of digital media. I have two blogs and a web page. That is much online presence as I want.  I don’t want to publish “books” for Kindle. Does that mean I am old and outdated? Or does it just mean I know what I don’t want?
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What to serve at a pity party?

I know intellectually that it isn’t true but yesterday I got hit hard by the feeling, the feeling that my childlessness is proof that there is something inherently wrong with me, a sort of scarlet “I”. I know it isn’t true. You don’t have to tell me that it isn’t true, I know it isn’t. Yet it feels true. Yesterday I was in a room filled with mommies. They were all young, beautiful, with Pilates bodies and pretty and perky dispositions—and then there was me. I felt like the wallflower in the corner that no one asked to dance.  I sat alone at a table keenly aware that we had nothing in common. I know shit about formula or cribs or what kind of diapers are the best.  And I sat there feeling all kinds of shame and loneliness. Every now and then I could feel their eyes looking at me, I tried to imagine their fantasy of me. My version of their fantasy is likely untrue. I won’t bother to write it. It seems too massochistic to give space to.

I was sitting and waiting for someone to arrive. It was a someone that I didn’t know. He was running late and my my thoughts were running wild. Something about sitting and waiting took my mind to the last time I was sitting and waiting for someone that I didn’t know. She was a famous person. You may know her. She is big and I was so very excited to meet her. This famous someone learned of my infertility and she wanted to know every detail of my infertility journey and then she told me, ” I don’t really want to have kids. I don’t really think I do. But I am going to. I am going to have kids because I don’t want to miss out. If I don’t do it now, I might regret it.  And I just don’t want to regret it.” This famous woman continued to ask me details about the expense and the pain and the ordeal of it all. She didn’t ask out of concern or compassion for me, her questions were for the purpose of information gathering. Not once did this famous woman apologize for my cruel fate, the way someone with empathy might do. Not once did my childlessness impact her line of questioning. Once I told her all of the stats of how many shots, for how many days, and what the side effects were and how much I paid, she then wanted me to know about the very famous sperm donors she had lined up and what great insurance she had and how very certain the doctors were that she would easily get pregnant. I sat there waiting, my mind vacillating between the Pilates-bodies mommies, the fear that I might be stood up and wondering if this famous woman had gotten pregnant by the famous sperm.
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How to find the BEST Therapist for you

The first time I went to therapy, my parents chose a psychotherapist quickly (an easier decision than which mechanic they took their car to). The way they found this nutter-butter-can-of-cashews was that my first pediatrician didn’t know what to do for my nightly all-night/every night nightmares and so he sent me to a therapist. He thought she was good because of her seemingly impressive pedigree, and let me let them tell you as they told everyone who asked, “She did therapy on the Prime Minister from Israel.” Even at ten I found this bit of information troubling and logistically dubious, as we lived in a beachside suburb in Los Angeles and the Prime Minister from Israel lived in Israel.

Here are a few examples of her wacky behavior:

1. She ate cottage cheese with her mouth open during our sessions. I feel sure that her mouth full of curds gave me more nightmares rather than less.

2. She read her mail during our sessions. While I get that my 10-year-old chatter was not very stimulating, she was getting paid to listen to me and not to read what the latest edition of Readers Digest said about how to declutter your desk. Good God, do I wish I was making this stuff up.

3. I have since learned that she asked patients for rides to the airport. She never asked me for a ride, but I was only ten and I didn’t even have a bike.

I thought, as a public service of sorts, and since I am a therapist and since I write about being in therapy, it might be a good thing if I shared some thoughts about picking a therapist—should you ever find yourself in need of one—as they can be harder to find than a good mechanic. For the rest of this post please click here.

What King Henry the VIII, Headphones and Chocolate Eclairs Taught Me

Object: Plus White 5 Minute Bleach Whitening Gel

Lesson: Cheaper can be better. This stuff really works.

Deeper lesson: For years I dreamed of whiter teeth that didn’t come with extreme pain(one session of Crest Whitening Strips hurt my teeth so badly that I thought about pulling them out by the root). Now my teeth are white, totally pain free and I am not a mite happier than I was when my teeth openly displayed my affection for blueberries, black coffee and red wine. Truly, I am no happier. That bit of info may not surprise you. You probably could have told me that. But I think, I believed, on an unconscious level, that whiter teeth would lead to happiness. I was wrong.
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Again with the leopard, the shoes and the dreams

“Here is the dream”, I tell Igor, “I am at Bloomingdales and I am on a big sofa and I am trying on shoes in the shoe department.”

“Which Bloomingdales?” Igor asked.

“I don’t know”, I answered surprised that he knows more than one location. I just can’t imagine Igor shopping at Bloomies.

“Sitting next to me is an African-American woman, she is sitting to my right, and she is trying on shoes. I overhear her telling the saleswoman that she isn’t going to take the leopard print boots. I get excited and I tell the saleswoman that is helping me that I want those boots. I imagine that they are the Cole Haan leopard boots that I didn’t buy two years ago and how I have lamented letting them get away.”

“Did you really want those boots in real life?”, Igor asked.
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Oui Wednesday

1.  Dorothea was 100% right on. I took her dream interpretation with me to Igor’s as I knew she was right. He isn’t usually interested what any of my friends think about my dreams but when he heard Dorothea had made an interpretation he clamored to hear it. The truth is that I think Igor is a bit smitten with Dorothea(ever since he heard her first dream interpretation he has had a bit of a soft spot for her).

This is what  genius Dorothea said about the dream I wrote about on Monday:

This may be my own tunnel vision here, but I think this is related to the feelings you’ve expressed in the previous posts. To pull in another character from Greek mythology, perhaps you are feeling like Icarus — you are scared that you are flying too close to the sun. You’ve exposed your true (and lovely!) face by giving up your anonymity. You’re feeling good about living in (sunny) Pasadena. You can read these as assertions of your ego: “Hey, look at me, I’m writing this cool stuff that I want the world to see!” (for which the world is better off)! “And I’m going to claim Pasadena as mine, too!” And this makes you vulnerable.

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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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