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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

 

Résumés of deserving

When I was in high school there was a boy  whom I dated who was absolutely gorgeous. I wouldn’t think so now, as my types have seriously changed since I was in junior English( he would now be way too pretty boy for my taste, but at the time I was crazy for blond  boys in Polo shirts). I think it was maybe our third time out and I felt what Molly Ringwald must have when in Sixteen Candles she got THE guy at the end.  You remember the scene when they were on the dining room table and there was a birthday cake and the kiss? It was astounding to me that dorky-old- me was dating a high school deity. I was dizzy from the altitude sickness and overwhelmed by the oxygen differential that occurs when a mortal dates a resident of Mt. Olympus.

The date progressed and we were doing lots of kissing. I think the term for it was “making out”. Yes, we were making out( Do they still call it that?). And this deity started getting pushy about moving things to the next level. I stood firm in my resistance. It was too early. I didn’t know him well enough. And I didn’t want him to think I was a slut. So I continued to say no and he continued to push for yes. He grew tired of my noes and so he, between passionate kisses( as passionate as a 17 year old boy could be) began a different tact. He gave me the highlights of his sexual CV. Seriously. He did this. He began to tell me all the gorgeous and popular girls in my high school that he had slept with. The terribly and surprising and horrifying thing is that his who’s-who of high school actually worked on me. I was impressed with his impressive list of girls. I wanted to be on that list (any wonder I have needed years of therapy?) and so I slept with him.

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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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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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Red-faced

At least I dreamt that I was. In the dream I had been out in the sun and I didn’t have sunblock on. I had remembered that I had been using skincare products that made me especially susceptible to the sun’s harmful rays. In the dream I panicked. “My face”. I somehow saw my face( in a mirror?) and it wasn’t just red it was a purplish burnt looking red. It felt permanent and that I would be damaged by this exposure. That was it, that was the entire dream. When I woke up it had felt like a nightmare. So what does this little dream mean?

Let’s start with where the dream begins: I was out in the sun. What does it mean to be out in the sun? For me, as an introvert with Irish skin, it means that I am in two places that feel a little uncomfortable in( out and in the sun) and in a place that I need to be protected from—I am vulnerable when I am out in the sun. The sun is out in the day time, when all the action happens.  Hence the sun is more of an ego state( masculine) while the moon is symbolic of the unconscious( or the feminine. or the receptive). To get too much sun is to have too much ego state. Sun is light, warmth, and generative but it can also be burning, destructive and killing. The sun is the centre of our solar system. It is symbolic of enlightenment. Carl Jung theorized that the sun was an archetype of the human concept of the Self.

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Post Traumatic Mexican Restaurant Syndrome

On the way to Igor’s today my mind went to a memory that I don’t like to think about. It is a memory that I have locked off and put in solitary confinement. As that wasn’t enough to protect me from this dreaded memory I also installed locks, guards, barbed-wire and other defenses such as denial, repression and a fire-breathing dragon or two to guard against it entering my consciousness.  However today this memory got free and it surfaced into my conscious mind. At first I resisted it, but it was too strong. I relented to the memory and went on a trip in my  own personal time-traveling anxiety machine,  and went back to the day that He-weasel lost his job only two short months after moving to Austin. I remember all the details of the moment like it is a photo that I have studied and that someday soon someone will  test me on it.  ”Where were you?” What were you wearing? What music was playing in the background?” “What exactly did He-weasel say?” “What did you do after?” I can tell you all these things and much more in the most minute of detail. And I can tell you that today, almost three years later, that when I think about that day that I feel sick. Not just a little nauseous, rather full on PTSD related nausea that requires a couple of slurps of Pepto Bismo and an Ativan chaser.

As I was reliving this horrible day in my head I started to do a comparative study and tried to think of a day that might make me feel sicker—not that I wanted to feel sicker, my masochism does have its limits, I just wanted to know that there had been worse days in my life. And I could find plenty of bad days to turn to. Trust me, there have been plenty. Let me give you a sense of how many. One therapist that I saw for only one session, told me that I had too many traumas for her to process. Just her hearing my history had given her a bad case of vicarious traumatization. I tell you that not to brag (I am truly not a trauma overachiever) about my impressive trauma history but just to make it clear that I have some shit days I could call on. When I thought about the top ten traumas I couldn’t get any of them to feel worse than the day in Austin that He-weasel lost his job. This is what is really interesting. This is what made me see the significance of this memory that came to mind.  It isn’t true that there are no worse days than this one.  I think anyone would say that one’s husband losing their job is not as bad as almost getting killed. In the hierarchy of shit it is clear, obvious and indisputable that death is worse than job loss. But as much as I tried to make these other memories feel worse, I just couldn’t. For today the job loss felt like the worst thing that ever happened to me.
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Why I’m hungry

You remember the last episode of “Belette goes to therapy” in which I was angry at X and I expected Igor to help me see my issues that were responsible for me having this dynamic in my life and instead Igor agreed that X was being an idiot and needed to get X’s ass into therapy. And you remember how after it became clear to me that I had absolutely no agency in the behavior, save my reaction to X’s antics. And you remember how post-session I got a serious case of the “I deserve a brownie”?

My friend, who is brilliant, and who comments under the name of “My friend” left a thought provoking comment on my last post. She said, “I wonder if the energy you would typically spend owning/partially owning the behavior of others was suddenly suspended before you and because that energy had to go somewhere, it manifested itself in this voice of hunger and the subsequent sense of needing to control that hunger.” This friend of mine always gets me thinking and she really got me thinking with this comment.

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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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