Image- Coleman/Classic Stock  

Tag Archive for ‘Jung’

What smarty-pants psychoanalysts say about shoes that defends my obsession

This shoes thing won’t let me go. For over 20-years I have been unable to do heels. I had foot problems. I was a Pisces who was more suited to swimming than walking. I was imbalanced. I couldn’t stand the pain. I was constitutionally incapable of walking in them. High-heels were just for special occasions. I needed a man to wear them, as I needed someone to lean on in order to walk in them. I could wear them for only brief periods of time. Valet parking was a must if heels were going to be worn. Only now I can walk blocks in them. I can wear them all day. I wear them alone. And I don’t need to valet park in order to wear them. So what’s happened? I have the same feet. If anything, I would imagine with age that I would be less likely to be able to tolerate four-inch heels than more. The only way I know how to make sense of this is to look at it symbolically as it can’t really be explained physically.

According to J.E. Cirlot in A Dictionary of Symbols, shoes are often symbolic of the vagina. Cirlot points to Cinderella as a story that uses shoes to symbolize female sexuality. Not surprisingly Freud saw the shoe or slipper a “symbol of the female genitals.” In symbolism, the shoe has is largely associated with fertility customs, marriage and romance. For example: The custom of tying shoes to the newlyweds car, which is symbolic of the sexual union.

The Erotic Foot” makes this interesting argument that might explain my new passion for shoes that perch me higher, “The high heel and the position it creates for the foot is a strong sexual stimulus. The feet are plantar-flexed (not perpendicular to the leg as they are in a relaxed position). This is the position emphasized for the foot in any centerfold picture. It is also achieved in the sexy crossing of legs where one foot teasingly flexes forward. The extension of the foot, pointing of the toes, particularly with a circular movement, is a strong body language signal saying “I’m available.” So perhaps my choice of foot wear speaks to my availability.

The Jungian analyst and writer, Marie-Louise Von Franz describes the symbolism of shoes in the following manner: “If we start from the hypothesis that the shoe is simply the article of clothing for covering the foot and that with it we stand on the earth, then the shoe is the standpoint, or attitude toward reality. There is much evidence for this. The Germans say when someone becomes adult that he “takes off his childish shoes,” and we say that the son “steps into his father’s shoes” or  “follows in his father’s footsteps” – he takes on the same attitude.” In that vein, it is interesting to note that the moment I knew that my marriage was over came through a pair of shoes that no longer fit. The running shoes went wrong made me aware that I needed to leave my marriage. And within a month of leaving my marriage my ability to wear high heels returned. (It is also interesting to note that He-weasel would still be taller than me in most heels, so it wasn’t out of consideration for him that I chose not to wear them). If we look at the running shoe as a shoe that should have allowed freedom of movement, speed and support and that it no longer did and how the running shoe has been replaced by a shoe that is less practical,less supportive and  more beautiful—we can see how the shoe might, as a shift in attitude and a differing standpoint then I had before. My decision might have not been practical and it left me less supported and yet my life is feeling more beautiful, and more my own.

In April( a month after the seperation), when I bought my first pair of high-heels as soon as I stepped into them I noticed feeling more powerful, sexual, visible, and much more feminine. In them I have to walk slower and more carefully but walking in heels creates a kind of deliberate awareness that I never had when walking in flats. Heels slow me down and as I am in this state of transition and am using action as a way to tolerate my anxiety, the heels work as a counter-balancing agent to my impulse to run-run-run as fast as I can.

Also important to my heel obsession is how during the same time I have given flats the boot, I have had two pretty big falls. Both falls were so signifigant that I might be left with a long term scar to remind me of them. The first fall was so scary that it almost stopped me from running. A month later when I fell again I got back up and didn’t even assess my wound before getting back into the game.  I don’t know exactly how this relates to the heels, I suppose it makes the attraction to the heels feel even stronger and more important. If I am falling and feeling a bit unstable then the fact that I am choosing 4 1/2 inch sandles and not orthapedic shoes tells me that the psychic significance of this object choice is even MORE significant. I am willing to risk the fall in order to have the heights. I suppose one might rewrite that sentence and say, “I am willing to risk falling/failing in order to have this elevated life.”

I still don’t know exactly what my ability to walk in heels is all about….but I am seriously enjoying the question, the seeking the answer, the resulting ruminations and, of course, the shoes themselves. I wanted to share with you a few things that sparkle with meaning for me as I explore this topic:

1) The blogger, Dorothea, who writes the brilliant blog, Another Door, had this to say on the subject: “You can walk in heels now because you aren’t carrying all that old weight on your shoulders, throwing off your balance. You can walk in heels now because it’s like being on tip-toe and you want to be the first to see what’s coming over the horizon. You can walk in heels now because you know that if you fall down, you can get right back up. You can walk in heels now because your legs are strong from all that running (running toward, not running away from). You can walk in heels now because you are excited about taking up as much space and attention in the world as possible.” I think she is absolutely right.  Actually, in all things I think she is absolutely right. She is a brilliant writer and you MUST read her.

These shoes.

3) This fantastic quote that follows by, the author and psychoanalyst, Christopher Bollas which does a FANTASTIC job explaining my current obsession with heels.  However, if you find reading psychoanalytic literature to be tedious, here is what Bollas says in a nutshell: We need an object to release the self into expression. What that means for me is that  at this point in my life, I need high-heeled shoes in order to become myself.

If you do like psychoanalytic reads or would like a highfalutin explanation for your shoe love then read on. Now, I am handing my blog over to Christopher Bollas, famed psychoanalyst(Please, when reading, replace the word “object” with “high-heeled shoes”. The management thanks you for your cooperation).
“Certain objects, like psychic ‘keys,’ open doors to unconsciously intense — and rich — experience in which we articulate the self that we are through the elaborating character of our response. This selection constitutes the jouissance of the true self, a bliss released through the finding of specific objects that free idiom to its articulation. As I see it, such releasings are the erotics of being: these object both serve the instinctual need for representation and provide the subject with the pleasures of the object’s actuality…

Those objects and experiences, keys to the releasing of our idiom, free us to experience the depth of our being and of the interplay between the movement of our idiom, driven by the force of our instincts, and the unconscious system of care provided by our mother and father. We are forever finding objects that disperse the objectifying self into elaborating subjectivities, where the many ‘parts of the self’ momentarily express discrete sexual urges, ideas, momories, and feelings in unconscious actions, before condensing into a transcendental dialectic, occasioned by a force of dissemination that moves us to places beyond thinking.…

… Do I select objects that disseminate my idiom or not? For example, do I pick up a novel which I don’t like but think I should read — but through which I shall not come into my being — or do I select a novel which I like, into which I can fall, losing myself to multiple experiences of self and other? Do I have a sense of this difference of choice? What if I don’t? What if I do not intuitively know which object serves me? If I don’t know then my day is likely to be a fraught or empty occasion. Neuroitic conflict eradicates, at least for a time, potential objects.… Or I may choose an object because it is meant to resolve a state of anxiety or to recontact a split-off part of myself housed there. In other words, pathology of mind biases the subject toward the sleection of objects that are congruent with unconscious illness.…

The ego chooses not only what aspect of an object to use but also what subjective mode to employ in the use.…

We can learn much about about any person’s self experienceing by obseriving his selection of objects, not only because object choice is lexical and therefore features in the speech of character syntax, but also because it may suggest a variation in the intensity of psychic experience that each person chooses. If we live an active life, then we will create a subjectified material world of psychic significance that both contains evocative units of prior work and offers us new objects that bring our idiom into being by playing us into our reality.”
From, On Being a Character: Psychoanalysis and Self Experience, 1992 by Christopher Bollas

 

Since our last session

  1. I quit the Psychoanalytic Psychotherapy Program, to my enormous relief. And I told the chair of the department exactly why I was leaving. It was incredibly liberating. Somehow the way I quit the program and how I told the truth about why I left felt more important than anything else I learned in the program.
  2. I quit Igor after having a bit of a temper tantrum. My tantrum stemmed from the fact that he can’t fix the main things we talk most about: my past, my infertility and that we live in L.A. One session I got so upset about his inability to fix things that I walked out mid-session. I shocked him and me.
  3. I saw the DEFINITIVE movie on the human shadow, Black Swan. I might have to see it four or fourteen or forty more times in order to process the power of this mind blowing movie. It will take at least five more viewings before I dare try to write about it.
  4. Santa-weasel brought me an iPad. I love Santa-Weasel. And Santa Weasel and I love playing Angry Birds on my iPad. Any guess why He-weasel and I LOVE a game in which we take our revenge on some nameless pigs who have stolen our capacity to have babies? Freud was right, aggression can be sublimated. I hate those damn pigs.
  5. Thanks to stress and Weight Watchers I got to my goal weight. Being always a bit of a ‘raise the bar’ kind of gal I think I am going to try and lose ten more pounds before I post my before and after pictures.
  6. Several weeks later I went back to Igor and told him I was mad and by doing this we got to see my pattern of isolating myself when I am in serious need of support. A recent dream illustrates this perfectly, I dreamt I gave myself a double mastectomy.  Not a pretty dream but one that speaks to my pattern of cutting off nurturing when I need it most. Igor and I made up and he told me that in the future when I run off he will come after me.  “On a white horse,” I asked? “If you like,” he laughed.
  7. I seriously considered shutting down my blog.
  8. I changed my mind. And I was overwhelmed by love and support and encouragement from so many of you. It helped more than you can know. Thank you, you lovelies.
  9. I got another office. I now practice in Valencia and Pasadena.
  10. As soon as I got my office in Pasadena I felt this incredible sense of relief. I felt at home. And I think I finally feel settled. I don’t think that I even want to go back to Lake Bluff. I think I want  to stay in Pasadena. I think I want that to be home. How is that for a Christmas miracle?
  11. I posted another piece on Psychology Today, “Soul Mates” and other words I am afraid of.”
  12. I missed you a lot. I am happy to be back. I so look forward to catching up on your blogs. I hope you had a lovely holiday. And I hope your New Year is all that you want it to be.

Top 10 Psychoanalysis Blogs (that Jung and Freud Would Read)

Blogs.com asked me to compile a list of the Top Ten Psychoanalytic blogs. I was, as you can imagine, thrilled to have the task of creating the definitive who’s-who of bloggers who mine the unconscious from the relative comforts of a .com couch.

When I got the assignment I was sure I would be overwhelmed for choice. Sadly it wasn’t true. The truth is that hardly anyone is writing about being in therapy and not many therapists write about what it is like to do therapy. What I did find were dozens and dozens of wonderful psychoanalytically oriented blogs who had long ago given up the practice of blogging( interesting to note that many of them quit blogging in July. August is the month when analysts take off. My theory on this is that Freud, Jung, Rank and the others took August off because all of their patients went away for August as is done is the vacationally superior European countries. I guess Freud and his analytic circle went off to Bermuda or Club Med or to Sandals for the summer [just for fun try and imagine Freud in Speedos and sipping a MaiTai and see if you can do it without needing a session or two of therapy to wash that image from your psyche]. This tradition stuck and analysts all over the world continue to take the month of August off). So anyways, many psychoanalysts that were blogging quit in July and never returned after their summer break. It happens a lot. It is so common that I worried that I might not be able to come up with ten active psychoanalytically oriented blogs  for my list.
Continue reading ‘Top 10 Psychoanalysis Blogs (that Jung and Freud Would Read)’

Change is Possible: The Extreme Makeover Edition

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’

Happy Birthday, Lily! ( and there are treats for you)

Today Lily is two years old. Instead of blogging, Lily has asked me to put down my MacBook and go for walks and play with Mr. Monkey and feed her treats as part of her b.day celebration. She also asked me to share this video filled with cute Lily photos. Hope you enjoy it as much as I do.

Speaking of treats, while I am off celebrating Lily, I thought you might enjoy the following (I know I have): Continue reading ‘Happy Birthday, Lily! ( and there are treats for you)’

Animus

Long before I knew about Jung I knew about animus. I didn’t know what the name was, but I had known my animus for YEARS. There was the dark animus who had harassed me since I was ten. In my nightmares this faceless man had chased me and threatened me and insisted I didn’t look at him. I thought, as most would do at 10, that he was my bogeyman and it certainly didn’t occur to me that he was a psychological complex and/or an archetype.  Years later there were positive animus figures who showed up in my dreams and they completed me. With him I felt strong, self-confident, smart and  loved. Now that we were together  all would be well forever….but then I would wake up and I would be crushed and completely lost without him.  The details of some of my positive animus dreams have stayed with me longer than memories of actual men I have dated.

Just in case you don’t know anima from anime, let me try to break this down for you. The first task of individuation, consciousness or just not being an unconscious git is to pull back our projections and become aware of our shadow. Once we have done that we then need to integrate the inner opposite gender aspect of ourselves and/or, in fancy terms we need to integrate our unconscious contrasexual nature, or we haven’t become all we can be (I didn’t intend to quote an Army commercial but my animus inspired Muse made me do it. Stay with me, men have anima figures, that function as their soul, and women have animus figures.

The anima is something each guy has, no matter how butch or bad ass or unevolved he may be, he has an inner feminine even if he is completely disconnected from it—it’s there. Really, it is, trust me—I am a paid professional. When you think of anima think of Dante’s Beatrice, Jerry McGuire and the gal who completes him or the other one who makes him jump on the couch like it was a trampoline at a kid’s birthday party, or that Twilighty vampire guy and the human he loves too much. These are literary versions of what happens internally. Dante needed his anima, his soul, or he was in hell. Jerry needed Renee Zellweiger or he was just a soulless agent. Vampirey guy has no soul and so he needs Anima figure to get one and he also needs sunblock but that is a different post. And women have animus figures, this is really at the core of every romance novel. “He completes me.” But the he that completes you is in fact an inner he, he is your animus.

Note to reader: please read the following in your head or out loud in a thick Swiss accent. If you can’t manage that at least have a cup of Swiss Miss as you read the following:

Every man carries within him the eternal image of woman, not the image of this or that particular woman, but a definite feminine image. This image is fundamentally unconscious, an hereditary factor of primordial origin engraved in the living organic system of the man, an imprint or “archetype” of all the ancestral experiences of the female, a deposit, as it were, of all the impressions ever made by woman-in short, an inherited system of psychic adaptation. Even if no women existed, it would still be possible, at any given time, to deduce from this unconscious image exactly how a woman would have to be constituted psychically. The same is true of the woman: she too has her inborn image of man.

“Marriage as a Psychological Relationship” (1925) In CW 17: The Development of the Personality. P.338

The animus, according to Jung, is both a personal complex and an archetypal image that exists within all women.  This is not easy stuff to boil down, so let me have my good friend Carl Gustav Jung say it for himself (and no he doesn’t have a blog and you can’t friend him on Facebook).

The animus is the deposit, as it were, of all woman’s ancestral experiences of man-and not only that, he is also a creative and procreative being, not in the sense of masculine creativity, but in the sense that he brings forth something we might call . . . the spermatic word.["Anima and Animus," CW 7, par. 336.]

That is the last I am going to quote Jung for a while because he had some serious issues about women with large animus figures. Really, it is almost unbearable to read his writings on the subject without wanting to cast dispersions on his manhood and suggest he get a sports car and a Costco size vat of Viagra. Let’s just put it this way, I think he had a very small *animus*, if you get my drift. Truly, for a guy being surrounded by super smart women he had some serious biases about women. I know it was the time in which he lived but it can still be hard to read his theories on women without occasionally wanting to throw out the Basel-born Jung with the bath water.

Back to the the animus. The animus in women isn’t so much a soul figure, as the anima is in men. The animus is more of an inner guy  who is loaded “with fixed ideas, collective opinions and unconscious a priori assumptions that lay claim to absolute truth. In a woman who is identified with the animus (called animus-possession), Eros generally takes second place to Logos.” I was, prior to lots of work, such a gal. I had a serious animus complex. I tended to idealize the masculine and logos over the feminine and feeling. Being as Athena daugter of a Zeus father, i.e. born out of the head of my father (if you have no idea what I am talking about I will include a link to a mythological Cliff notes on the subject). The animus is also a bridge to the Self (yikes, me trying to explain the Self could take a while. Suffice to say the Self is what you are after in Jungian psychology and it is the more transcendent/trans-personal part of yourself). Here is what my dead and somewhat sexist friend and the Father of Analytic Psychology has to say on the subject:

Like the anima, the animus too has a positive aspect. Through the figure of the father he expresses not only conventional opinion but-equally-what we call “spirit,” philosophical or religious ideas in particular, or rather the attitude resulting from them. Thus the animus is a psychopomp, a mediator between the conscious and the unconscious and a personification of the latter.[Ibid., par. 33.]

Differentiation is the key in working with animus. The animus, tends to be bossy and opinionated and has answer for everything…mine certainly did/does. What one wants to do is differentiate the messages that come from you( the ego) and those that come from the animus and that way you are conscious of where these messages come from and that gives you more freedom to take or leave the Old Testament truths that the animus likes to bust out ( lots of rules, thou-shalts and general Super-ego kind of statements that can at the very least be oppressive and at their worst they can be paralyzing).

And since my animus was unusually large, before I learned to differentiate my animus, I had a hard time being around groups of women. This made attending grad school in my chosen field a little hard( as of late Psychology has become a mostly female profession)and made it harder still to attend a conference given by Marion Woodman, the grand poobah of Jungian Femininity, on the Feminine in which  all of the attendants were garbed in shawls and gypsy skirts and Goddess necklaces. My animus was repulsed by the idea when I suggested we attend.

“Are you kidding me?” My animus asked. “We got to get out of here. This isn’t for us. This is too touchy, feely. Where is the intellect? Where is the logic? Where is the objective????? Hell no, we won’t go.” It shouted in a chant of self-preservation.

There was a big part of me that agreed with my animus and wanted to hightail it out of the Hilton Ballroom that this estrogen rich event was happening in. I was ready to go  faster than you can say “Sororities, Knitting Circles, Estrogen, and Ovaries”. However I knew that my animus had been running the show for far too long and at the time I was trying to learn about mothering, as most of my practice had been filled with college aged girls who had mother wounds and my mother wound had left me feeling like it was MUCH better to identify with the masculine. I knew that Marion Woodman had something to teach me about the feminine. So I did some differentiation work with my animus. In my imagination I  booked my animus a suite at Caesar’s Palace. I gave him cigars and booze and chips and gift certificate’s to steak houses and strip clubs. I told him to leave me alone for the weekend so I could get to know myself independent of him and that I would be back for him on Monday. My animus agreed. And it worked. This was the beginning of me differentiating from my animus. I began to see what thoughts, ideas and feelings were mine and which were from the animus. This was big and it was totally worth being a part of Shawl Fest 2006. That said, I am still pretty identified with my animus—only now my animus is more positive and not the dark one that so long tormented me.

Speaking of the dream that I had for decades in which the dark animus was chasing me, what I have come to realize is that I wouldn’t have died if I looked at him. He would have died. He was afraid of the light of consciousness and so he lied to me and told me that if I looked at the complex it would kill me. Guess what, I am still here and he is gone. The positive animus remains.

So, ladies, any animus figures in your dreams? Fellows, any anima dreams????

*************

More on animus:

Hereherehere here and here.

If more than two people are interested in this topic, I could write a post about how our animus or anima can create acrimony in relationships with *real* men and explore Jung’s idea of marriage as a psychological relationship. If you are interested vote with your comments. If you aren’t I can always write about shoes, Igor, Lily and how much I hate L.A. No hard feelings. ;-) My positive animus’ feelings won’t be hurt.

Space: The Final Frontier

No, these are not the days of the Star-ship Enterprise. This is me thinking about why exactly I signed up for the Psychoanalytic Psychotherapy Program. And it all comes down to space.

The first time I saw Igor I was astonished by how much space he created for me and still felt close, there and with me. The first session was especially palpable as I had never been in that kind of space before. And I had done a whole lot of therapy prior to finding Igor, through out my 20′s and 30′s and there had even been some back in the tweens and teens. I tell you that not to dig up the painful truth that I have spent as much money on therapy as I have grad school and I have likely spent more time in therapy than I have at the beach, parties, and or any other recreational activities( in my defense I must say that I am not big on recreational activities).

Soon after I began with Igor an old boyfriend came to mind and how whenever I left Igor’s office I never thought of this guy. This is where things get tricky so I will type slowly and expect you to read slowly, as it is going to be tough to follow this logic. Okay, so for the ten years that I saw the yellow toothed Jungian, after almost 80% of our sessions I would think about this guy. And as I was just married and wanted to stay that way I wasn’t all together thrilled about this guy popping up in my consciousness post-session. I thought it meant that I was a hot mess and that I was drawn to something self-injurious. Why exactly was I thinking about this guy who was as healthy a choice as a heroine-speed-ball-Oxycontin cocktail with a vodka-hemlock chaser? I told old Yeller and he never had an answer. He would say “interesting” and then go off about some obscure Minoan fairytale and how the Princess wanted to date a poisonous snake.  I would say “uh-huh” knowingly and nod my head and pretend I had some idea what he was talking about. But the truth is that I didn’t. We kept up this farce for  TEN years( feel free to laugh at me in the comment portion of this post).

On the way to Igor’s office each week I pass the condo of the parent’s of the poisonous snake. I can’t help it. They live in a condo on a main street and to avoid them like some kind of black cat would take a lot of traipsing around circuitous side streets. Driving L.A. is difficult enough without adding unnecessary side-streets. So I didn’t. And each week I passed their condo and each week I passed the church I imagined we might marry and each week after Igor’s I wouldn’t think about him. He just didn’t come to mind.

After several months of seeing Igor it came to my consciousness that I hadn’t thought about him and so I told Igor. As soon as he heard of my decade of post-session rumination he asked me what my associations to poison paramour were. I explained that he was VERY bad for me and yet when we had been together there had been enormous intensity. It was one of those toxic relationships that required me to keep a shot of adrenaline around as when I would hear his voice I would go into near anaphylactic shock. Igor, upon hearing my associations immediately had an interpretation. Your mind was trying to tell you something: 1)It was trying to tell you that the relationship with your old analyst lacked intensity and so it picked a symbol to compensate for the lack of connection. Secondly, it picked a symbol of a man that was clearly not a healthy choice. Your mind was saying: You need a therapist where there is more connection and this guy you are seeing is not a healthy choice. He was right. The yellow-toothed Jungian was highly-intensity impaired. His passion level never got about a Nordic high of cool, calm, collected and, perhaps, a bit constipated.

I remember one session with Yeller in which I was totally overwhelmed by all the things that I might chose to talk about and so I just sat there. I sat there for five, ten, twenty, thirty-five, forty, fifty-minutes, The  session was over and I did not say a single word. Old Yeller never said anything.  And on sessions when I did say something I never felt like we connected. There seemed to be this constant missing. I would say something and he wouldn’t get it and then he would go an scholarly diatribe about what Jung said or what the Greeks said or some other ancient culture said and he would  carefully stay far away from what I said.  Each week I would leave feeling confused, unheard and, to be honest, incredibly stupid. As I look back I don’t know why on earth I stayed so long. I guess that the truth is that I thought he was the best because he was so smart that I had no idea what he was saying. Note to all who are considering therapy: My reasoning was ridiculous. One should be able to understand their therapist. One should not need to speak ancient Greek or Aramaic in order to work on one’s father complex. I think that the other issue is that I thought be being there and sitting at his feet, I thought that it meant I was smart. It did not.

With Igor I feel a connection. He is there and with me and totally attuned and yet I have plenty of space. When we first started to work, I marveled that one could be connected and still have space ( this tells you everything you need to know about my family of origin issues).He gives me space when I need it and he somehow knows when he needs to interrupt my silences. Igor would NEVER-EVER-EVER let me get away with 50 minutes of silence.  NEVER. And that is a good thing.

Almost as soon as I experienced the space that Igor created for me I knew that I wanted to create it for my clients. I wanted to learn how to do this and this is why I enrolled in the program. I enrolled because I want to became an inner architect. I want to create spaces that contain. I want to create environments where change can occur. And I wouldn’t hate it if I ended up getting some referrals out of it. I also wouldn’t mind some personal growth. And to be completely candid, I get a hunch that it will be good for my writing, but that isn’t something I admitted to on my application for the program. I don’t imagine Psychoanalytic Institutes like to think of themselves as memoir and blog fodder.

753 words on why my frown has turned upside down

  • My Kate Spade shoes are waiting for me in the concierge’s office. I can’t take a picture of them because they are locked up in the prison of the package room. In they sit with books from Amazon.com, printer cartridges from Office-depot.com and contact lenses from lenscrafters.com. My beautiful shoes sit in darkness with objects less lovely than they, and silently they wait for me to come and claim them; fret not for soon my shoes and I will be reunited.
  • Today is my first day on Weight Watchers. This doesn’t sound like a reason to be happy—but it is. It is because I made a choice to do something that is good for me and because I am no longer just hoping that I magically lose the 25 pounds that torment me.
  • It is the 5th day of my new fitness regime. I recently I read how Beyonce runs on her treadmill towards a picture of an Oscar. My fantasy that motivates me is that I am prepping for my book tour. Perhaps I can cut out a picture of a book signing and hang it in front of me as I move in unnatural elliptical motions toward my goals. Yes, this in fact may be a delusion but I am okay with that.  A delusion that gets me thinner, fitter and healthier can’t be a bad one. Can it?
  • I have over 120 comments on my last post. I’m not bragging—I am just saying that it makes me very happy to hear how blogging has impacted you. And, I have to say, that hearing the really nice things you had to say about how I have impacted you made me feel really good—REALLY good ( crying with happiness good).
  • Gazebo News wrote about me. Okay, this is me bragging. But it is also me saying that I impacted home with my post. They know that I miss them. They know about my cat’s photo in Walgreen’s. Perhaps because of my post, perhaps the people who live in Lake Bluff will feel a little luckier for living where they do.
  • Growing up Jung: Coming of Age as the Son of Two Shrinks” is lying on my bedside table. It is waiting to be read. It knows that I am becoming more and more Post-Freudian. It is hoping that it can lure me away from Klein and Bion. We won’t tell it that I am in the Psychoanalytic Training Program. We won’t let it know that I am just reading it because I am reading every memoir I can find about being in therapy. We won’t discuss the fact that I am anthropomorphizing a book and that I am projecting my feelings about leaving Jung onto a memoir. We will instead discuss how I bought the book not because it is about Jungian analysts, I bought the book because I am buying every memoir I can find about being in therapy. It is, as you know, my topic.
  • Igor was VERY excited about our decision to move back to Forest and Bluff. He said that the trip to Chicago changed me. He said that he could feel the difference in me as soon as I walked into his office. He said that in the past I believed that we chose Lake Bluff for the child we were going to have. Igor says that now I am able to claim it for myself, all the things that I wanted Lake Bluff to give my imaginary child are in fact things that I wanted for myself. He says that now that I can say this, now I can go home again. It turns out I didn’t need two sessions. I only needed one. And I didn’t cry.
  • I hate L.A. less now that I know we are going to leave here in nine months or so. I might even be able to write another “365 things that don’t suck about L.A.” I might even manage to complete that list before I go. If I do I want an award for that. I want a prize, a statue or a plaque acknowledging my heroic efforts.
  • “Dancing with the Stars” starts tonight. Can one have TV cheese when on Weight Watchers? Just how many points is in TV cheese, anyways?
  • This is how Lily looked as she watched the O.S.U. game on Saturday. Go on, look at Lily in her Ochocinco OSU jersey and try not to smile. Oh, and, for you football fans, Lily’s team won.  Go Beavers!
  • Projective Identification and Prince Charming the Conceptual Artist

    When as a MFT trainee I first started seeing clients I had normal bouts of self-doubt and fear that I wasn’t at all ready to be seeing them yet.  Usually after a few minutes into the session I would remind myself just to be there with the client and listen and respond authentically and that all would be well and that was usually enough to make my self-doubts go away. However there was one client that I was seeing that whenever I would sit with him/her no amount of self-soothing or self-talk could make my self-doubt go away. And strangely, even if I had been feeling confident, competent or otherwise effective, as soon as he/she would walk into my office my positive feelings would be replaced with ones like, “You will never amount to anything” or “You are hopeless and you should just stop this now.” I tried to push these thoughts away and just be with the client—only these thoughts and feelings wouldn’t budge. By the time the session would end I would feel like a complete and total failure and an absolute fraud.

    At the time I was lucky to have  a WONDERFUL supervisor whom, upon hearing how I felt when in session with this client, introduced me to the concept of Projective Identitification. She explained to me that the client was unconsciously communicating to me about their subjective state via how I felt about myself in this client’s presence, i.e. the person was projecting their inner state onto me. The client said with his/her words that he/she was doing okay and all was well but via their unconscious they were communicating to me how he/she really felt about him/herself. As soon as I heard my supervisor’s interpretation it made sense to me. Once armed with this insight I was able to understand the subjective states as transference and what had once felt intolerable now felt like valuable clinical information. However, if I had not had the supervision I might not been able to differentiate my feelings from what was in fact a classic Projective Identification as this is a psychological state that can be difficult to differentiate without a skilled someone on the sidelines.

    All of the above is just my attempt to introduce you to the concept, in case this is an idea you are not yet familiar with( and I am sure that many of you are and/or have at least experienced this dynamic in your life with other humans). So when I got back from my trip to Portland I was feeling extremely numb. I felt that I wasn’t able to love. I couldn’t feel my heart. I felt totally disconnected from myself. I had no idea how I was feeling and my thoughts felt strangely distant. My inner life felt foggy and far away and when I tried to access it I felt like I was trying to make out the words and melodies to a song playing on a far away radio. It took me almost four full days for me to figure out that what I was feeling was in fact a Projective Identification.  It is not me who is numb and who can’t love or feel my heart or  can’t access my thoughts or feelings. I am, for all of my many faults, a person who loves, feels, and is totally connected with my inner life.  As soon as I recognized that I was in the midst of a P.I., and that I was feeling the feelings of another who shared my week long journey, I felt the way you do when you are dreaming and you know you are and you want to wake yourself up from it, but you can’t.  Don’t get me wrong, knowing it is a Projective Identification makes the pain of being numb less painful—yet I don’t feel fully out of it.

    Igor is away on vacation this week and so I don’t have him to help me process all the feelings I had during the trip nor to help me free myself from the Projective Identification that I presently find myself in.  It helps to write about it. It helps to have to use my mind and words and notice how I feel as I write them, to do so feels a bit like how when your leg goes numb and you get up and try to shake out the numbness and tingling.  Strangely exercise also has helped. Last night was the first time since I broke my toe that I was able to run and feeling my body and my breath and feeling myself move through space also seemed to bring me back to myself a bit.  All that said, I still feel a little numb and a little distant and not 100% myself.

    The good news is, that even though I have not woken from the Sleeping Beauty sleep of Projective Identification, I have been dreaming. I have been dreaming lovely dreams. Two nights ago I dreamt of being at a gorgeous Italian villa that belonged to a dear friend and I was very happy to be there. Last night I dreamt of an extremely positive Animus figure (i.e. a super hot guy who knew my soul) and we were very much in love. My Prince Charming was an artist who was working at Neiman Marcus doing art installations on all three levels of the store. All was well until we met my mother for lunch and then He left me. I chased after him in the parking lot and tried to get him back to me. I got him to come back into the store. When we went back into the store we saw this kind of sculptural office/playpen set up in which these two parents had created as a way to keep their kids close by as they worked. My Prince saw this and was upset that they had only one way to move and so he was going to create a swing (shaped like a tube) that would allow for more freedom of movement.  Both seem like surprisingly positive dreams considering how I am feeling.

    Neiman’s, I think, is symbolic of a commercial palace—the kind of palace that I can, on occasion, be imprisoned by. Also, as dreams love word play, it is interesting to note that Erich Neumann was a writer who wrote the definitive work on the Great Mother archeptype. My positive animus is played by a Post-modern Prince Charming( an artist/ a creative/ a guy who works with ideas as the source of his creation). I believe this Prince has been sent by my psyche to wake me from the sleep that the dark witch(played by my mother in the dream). Only the dark witch separates me from the Prince in my dream—it is when I try to get nurturing from the feminine (go to lunch with her) that I lose the relationship with my Animus.

    I leave the palace (the mother) and go to the parking lot (where drive is stored) and we come back together through his seeing children merged to their parents. The dream concludes with the Animus attempting to create more movement for the children. My Animus, I believe, is telling me that the way to reconnect with my Self and to separate from the dark mother is through creativity. I think he is telling me that there is a way to be connected to family without being imprisoned by them.  I wish that he would have just kissed me and woken me from this Projective Identification I find myself in and besides a kiss is much less work, and he was really hot.

    My Architect: A Granddaughter’s Construction of Identity

    On Thursday I will not be going to Igor’s. This Thursday I am beginning an adventure.  Me, He-weasel, Lily and my mother are going on a trip to find my grandfather. We are  packing the car and driving from L.A. to Portland, Oregon. It will be a kind of family reunion, only there will be no one waiting for us—no party at a park to celebrate our surname. You see my grandfather isn’t actually in Portland; he is buried somewhere in Orlando, Florida. I suppose we could have made a trip to Orlando and gone to Disney World and stopped by the cemetery in which he resides, but I prefer to see the buildings he built. As soon as I learned about my grandfather’s buildings I knew I had to see them for myself. There was an impulse that demanded fulfillment. When I told my mother that I was going to see my grandfather’s buildings she told me that she wanted to come too.

    “They thought that it would be a disgrace to go forth as a group. Each entered the forest at a point that he himself had chosen, where it was darkest and there was no path. If there is a path it is someone else’s path and you are not on the adventure.”
    Joseph Campbell

    When we arrive in Portland on Friday we are going to go to the county records office and stand in line and fill out forms and pay a clerk to give us a listing of all the buildings that my architect grandfather built in Portland. And then we are going to spend the next week going to these places. We will get out of the car and help my mother get out of the car and get Lily’s leash on and make sure we have batteries in the camera and we will stand in front of his buildings.  We will bring no flowers to these monuments of his memory instead we will bring a Rashomon of reactions.

    He-weasel will take pictures and talk about the architectural elements of the edifice. My mother will tell stories about her father and she will feel things about him and his abrupt departure from her life. She will feel pride at seeing these things that her father accomplished and she will feel grief that this man who built these buildings that endure was incapable of creating any relationship that did. Lily will pee on the grass in front of my grandfather’s buildings. She will excitedly smell the smells she has never smelt before and she will greet any passer byes as if this was her home. I will stand  in front of what remains of this man, as if standing at his grave-site. I will quietly reflect on this man that I never knew whose choices have impacted my mother’s life and hence, indirectly, my life. I will see if I feel anything. I will listen for any messages that the ghost of my grandfather has for me. I will look to these buildings hoping that they can serve as a mirror, giving me some kind of greater understanding of myself and perhaps some greater insight into my mother.

    When we get back in the car my mother will sit quietly and I will know that even though she won’t say it that she feels something like depression in response to these paternal structures and she will imagine the life she would have had if her father hadn’t left her. Other days she will fill the emptiness with a manic spree of recollection. She will tell me stories about where she went to school and how she remembers walking down this street with her brother and how much Portland has changed since she was a child. He-weasel will ask me excitedly which address we are going to next and then he will turn his attentions to navigation. Lily will use the time to nap in her crate or work on her plans for destruction for her chew toy. I will open the new journal I bought just for the trip—the journal that will house the thoughts, feelings and the names of places we stop for coffee along the way. I will document my reactions to this place that we just saw and I will write down all the things my mother said while we stood in front of this building that her father built.  I will write all that I notice. I will watch my mother mourn her father  and I will think about what Jung said,”Nothing has a stronger influence psychologically on their environment and especially on their children than the unlived life of the parent.” I will watch my dreams to see how my psyche is responding to this meeting with my grandfather’s ghost. And I will keep a list of things that I want to tell you and another list of things that I want to tell Igor.

    There is something about this trip that has a tone of great gravitas and finality to it. And I get the sense that this is the last trip I will ever take with my mother. Maybe that is why I feel that death is coming with us on this trip—or maybe that is just the ghost of my grandfather who will come along for the ride. For my mother and for me, taking this trip is some kind of nameless ritual—it is a ritual of a homecoming, only this isn’t my home and all of the homes we visit will be closed to us.  Likely during our visits to all of his buildings will be us on the outside looking in with no access or entry to the interiors of these buildings  and even if we could enter the man we are seeking would not be there, his ghost eclipsed by the lives of the occupants who call these houses, that he constructed, home. However, I do believe that by showing up at his doors…something will be opened, I just don’t know what that will be.

    “We have only to follow the thread of the hero path.
    And where we had thought to find an abomination,
    we shall find a God.
    And where we had thought to slay another,
    we shall slay ourselves.
    And where we had thought to travel outward,
    we shall come to the center of our own existence.
    And where we had thought to be alone,
    we shall be with all the world.”
    Joseph Campbell

    All pictures posted here are of some of the photos I found online of my grandfather’s buildings. I can’t help but notice that he has a sort of Jungian aesthetic (yes, I am aware that I could be projecting).

    p.s. Please check out this LOVELY, LOVELY, LOVELY post!

    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 .

    Have La Belette Rouge delivered right to your door

    Enter your email address:

    Delivered by FeedBurner

    Follow using a Feed Reader

    Honorary weasels who are the nicest, smartest, funniest, and best looking people on the Internet

    La Belette Rouge for the Amazon Kindle

    Belette Rouge’s Tip Jar