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.
Continue reading ‘The Container’
Okay, here is the truth…the real truth…the truth that I didn’t want to tell you. I wanted to be all ho-ho-ho and merry -merry and I tried, I really did, but I can’t. It hit me the other day. It hit me hard. I got it when we were walking through William-Sonoma and I was shopping for a coffee maker that I will NEVER-EVER-EVER have kids.I knew it and then all of a sudden I KNEW it. This is something that will never be fixed. This will always be true. I saw people with children and prams and baby Bjorns and I just started sobbing. I lost my sh*t in the appliance section. I went from shopping mode to melt down mode faster than you can say Cuisinart Brew and Grind. He-weasel got me out of the store and herded me to my car in the pouring rain and I sobbed as I blindly walked, “It’s not fair. I want it to be fair. It’s not fair. Life should be FAIR!!! If we couldn’t have kids we should have at least been able to stay in Chicago.” That happened Sunday and ever since then I have been in the sob, cry, mourn, grieve and repeat mode.
I tried today to do a little Christmas shopping but then I saw all these men with their fucking babies and I had to push back the tears and then some little toddlers were pushing me when I was waiting in line to buy a candle and I was growing more and more irritated and I came this close to turning around and going off on this man for not being able to contain his kids and how they needed to stop pushing me and they needed to stop pushing me NOW!!!!!! But what I wanted to do is turn around and take all my rage and anger and outrage that I am childless and that I will always be so and that I live in L.A. and that I had a shit childhood and give it to this man that I have never met. I wanted to yell at this stranger and for him to hear my anger and for him or someone to make this right. The customer is always right. And maybe if I yelled loud enough the manager of William-Sonoma could fix what is broken in me or give me my money back or at least give me a free box of Holiday Bark Candy. A dear friend of mine ,who upon hearing about my near run in with a total stranger, suggested that I stay home tonight, cancel my dinner reservation and order dinner in less I give into my desire to rage publicly and end up needing her to bail me out of the big house.
So the truth is that I am in pieces. A million of them to be exact. And I don’t feel like Humpty Dumpty can be put back together again. I am not sure if I will be up to blogging over the holiday season. The truth is that I didn’t even plan on writing this. I was just going to put up a picture of Lily and wish you a happy holiday but if there is one thing this blog is it is authentic. And I am authentically feeling like shit. But that doesn’t mean that I don’t wish you a very happy Christmas, I do. Also, please, I implore you…no need to comment and try to cheer me up. Lily, He-weasel, Igor and assorted lovely friends are trying to cheer me up and yet at present I am uncheerable.
Ugh, now that I wrote this I feel like a Grinch or a Scrooge or like I have put a damper on your ho-ho-ho. But maybe my telling the truth about how shit I feel will help someone else. I hope it does.
p.s. You can’t say I didn’t warn you. It was there in the title. You didn’t have to read this. I did warn you.
No, no, Silly-Rabbit—not in a “She’s a 10″ kind of way. Not in a Bo Derek/Dudley Moore/Bolero kind of running on the beach in a bikini with my hair braided in corn-row way. However, I imagine if I was going to assign myself a number in that numerical way (which in truth I am totally against) I would give myself a four to five on an average day( I am a harsh and merciless judge of myself and a very generous judge of others—Igor and I are working on this). However if I had the help of a team of gifted and talented beauty professionals, I could weasel my way up to a strong seven. If you add in energy, enthusiasm and extra-credit I would get extra points for personality and wit, not that those who are inclined to hand out “tens” give credit for such character qualities. But what I am talking about today is the size of my tushy. My tushy is, as of yesterday, a size 10.
Continue reading ‘Breaking news: I’m a 10.’
1. Recently Deja Pseu was raving about RéVive’s Eye Renewal Cream. As soon as I read her review I knew I was sold. The problem is that it REALLY works( and that problem comes from this not being a cheap eye cream). However an eye cream that is cheap and doesn’t work is no bargain( and I have a shelf filled with these eye cream failures). The ReVive eye cream is on my list of BEST MONEY I EVER SPENT( a list I will soon write up and post—this post also features such expenses as grad school and therapy). It is so magical that know I want the whole ReVive line. After two days of having a sample of their neck cream and their famous Moisturizing Renewal cream I know I must have them. This is where the bad news comes in. ReVive makes this product called ReVive Peau Magnifique. This 28-day program of magnificence costs a whopping $1500. And it is supposed to be used twice a year. I know it is insane( and I assure you I am not even close to considering buying this) however it is supposed to take 10 years off of your skin and people who have used it say that people thought they had a face lift after the 28th day. If it really works $1500 is much cheaper than the cost of a face lift. And, I would rather not ever have a face lift and still look like I did.
2. I want this chair. I am not at all sure why. But I feel sure that He-weasel could make me one. I, he, and you( if you ever came to visit me) would likely never sit in this chair. That said, must we always want things that are functional? Can’t desire just be about beauty, on occasion.
Continue reading ‘Je désire (a post of wanton desire and lustful, hedonistic and capitalistic greed)’
Once I was telling Old Yeller about how I was sure some event(which I have completely forgot) had changed who I was as a person. He, in his Old Yeller way, told me that I would never change who I really was . He told me that I would fundamentally be who I was always. He was wrong. Change is possible.
1. For all of my life I have hated gin. Now I like gin. How did that happen? Did gin change or did I?
2. I don’t have red hair anymore. I am really and truly a blond. It has been a slow progression but I am now 100% blond. I am still a Belette Rouge, in spirit if not in fact. It is sort of strange. Having red hair has been a part of my identity and a way to express individuality. I don’t have that anymore. I am a blond and there are lots of blonds and I am okay with that—-and I am still feeling like an individual. I can’t imagine I will ever be red again. The only time I think about is when my in-laws tell me to ‘”never-ever-ever-ever go back to red” and then I immediately think about making an appointment at the nearest salon and going for a Lucille Ball/Bozo the Clown red, only louder. Oui, je suis une passive-aggressive Belette. Continue reading ‘Change is Possible: The Extreme Makeover Edition’