jennydeupree.com

(Written in September 2009)
Walked in to Caryn’s feeling pretty good.  I told her about being able to use the idea of finding the relatively more comfortable place, and how I’ve been talking to the baby, feeling the uncomfortable feelings with her so she won’t have to be alone.  Caryn was pleased, these are strong signs of healing.  I also told her about Kayla complaining about not knowing what to do, and being unhappy being alone, and I was able to reflect back, “You’re feeling confused, bummed out, and angry,” but didn’t take on responsibility.  She asked how that felt, and I said the strength was in my turtle shell at the back.  Earlier I had been hunching my shoulders and pulling my head down between them and I said I felt like a turtle.  Caryn told me she’d seen a lot of turtles in their lake when she went out in a boat, and also about watching a big turtle in the Caribbean lay her eggs and then cover them with sand.  I really like the turtle shell image, it reminds me of having backup, resources to fall back on, also that mother can’t attack me from the back, but in front I’m open.  At one point, I don’t remember now what brought it up, there was a weight in my heart.  It was actually big, a big egg shape, made out of mud, and it took up space from my heart to my abdomen.  There seemed to be a lot of grief, so I cried, and wailed and sang, even sang “it is not kept, or guarded, or cared for … the soil cannot keep them any more.” It felt like huge grief for the earth and all the damage we are doing.  I spoke some angry thoughts too: “Can’t you see what you are doing?” and “You did your best to kill her, but she survived.” I talked about the “tough little drip that just wouldn’t quit,” and how I love her, and how she got me this far, and now I want her to have a chance to feel safe and rest.  I did some work with my face, feeling the tension, feeling the mask like a layer of wax.  Finally got into supported child pose for the last 15 minutes of the session.

(Written in September 2009)
Session with Caryn.  Went to my corner and cried.  Wanted to bang my head, but then pounded with my fists which became a punch — an angry punch outward.  I told her about being OK with things that would have triggered me: the idea of confronting Ellen, and Kayla saying she needed to do her grief work.  I see that those are signs that I’m doing better, even tho I’m not feeling better.  I can’t remember the session very well.  We spent a lot of it tracking sensation in my face and in my butt.  Toward the end, feeling really tired, I slid down until just my head was propped up.  The question came up about feeling safe.  I said I felt 99% safe — that was like my body was made up of small cubes of resilient material, and there was a little quiver of fear in the middle of my chest.  It happened again as I’m sitting here.  I concentrate on feeling the safety in my body and extending compassion to the scared part of me.  I told Caryn how scary it is when I don’t know what to do.  She said I don’t have to know what to do, I can just wait and watch to see what happens next.  She suggested “I can find something that is relatively more comfortable in my body or my experience.” She spoke again of how my body learns to regulate when it is with her body, and suggested that I start looking for people I can be comfortable with.  I don’t think this is something I’ve ever noticed, so it feels a little daunting.  On the other hand, I remember how good it felt to be hugged by Noelle.  I also asked for the baby back, trying to switch to the older dolls was premature.  I also told her I’d like to have something to be a “transitional object,” maybe a scarf.  Caryn asked what I would like for the baby.  (1) that she could feel safe.  Caryn suggested I spend time in the child pose, experiencing my weight connecting with the earth.  (2) that when she wanted to do something or express something, that it would be easy and natural.  I talked about the part of me that gets so scared when I don’t know what to do.  It’s the “tough little drip that just won’t quit,” and she keeps me soldiering on.  When I catch her at it, can I push the pause button? give her a chance to rest and relax?

(Written in September 2009)
Session with Caryn. No coherent narrative, I just remember disconnected fragments.  Telling her about Elizabeth saying when she first met me she thought I was generous and kind. And then shivering and trying to hide.  When Caryn repeated it, it was painful — believing it and trying to take it in, and terrified to believe and take in.  “Can some part of you take it in?” I saw odd little creatures like sea anemones with many delicate tendrils waving, and they weren’t in my body but somewhere in front.  Caryn said that was very good, that the space in front of my body was part of me.  I talked about Elizabeth’s letter praising my vision, commitment and generosity, and started to expand on those.  Caryn asked me to slow down, so I did and began to go into detail about the hugeness of the galaxies and the amazing complexity that is the body…    A fragment drifted by “.. so great” and I spoke to Mother “I don’t think I’m so great, I think the Universe is huge and miraculous and beautiful and I want to share my excitement.” Caryn said she’d never heard me speak from that embodied place before.  I have been able to do it in the past few years: speaking my truth and not worrying about whether mother got it or not.  We worked on exploring and building the resource of weight and orientation to gravity.  She said that someone said the connective tissue in the body was a kind of “liquid crystal”, and when we were close together my body could resonate with hers, and her body could teach my body how to be resourced, grounded, taking up space.  She also had me practice using the trees outside my window as a resource, their verticality, their roots.  I told her about the time at Treigh Banh, when I sent a root down and the earth opened to welcome it.  We also worked on a gesture — my arm extended, hand raised, palm out — and the difference between pushing and taking a stand.  She put her hand against mine and talked about receiving and I thought about that time with Peter when he responded to my movement instead of rigidly resisting or falling away.  That feeling of delight: to be met, to be in relationship, rather than being bulldozed or abandoned.  We talked about how, if I had a thought (“this time last year I was headed downhill…”) I could stop it with an affirmation: I’ve come out before and I will come out again.  It’s OK that I don’t know what to do.  But when it comes as a body sensation (low grade fear, global activation) it’s much harder to become aware of and find the right resource.  She had me orient to the trees — actually to a particular white birch — and then tossed out a purple pillow to be the negative feeling.  I immediately saw that I was bigger than it was, resourced by tree and megalith, and I didn’t have to push it away, or defend against it, I could just let it be.  Caryn said this was a new phase in learning to orient and be resourced without having to disappear the negative thing.  In the past, resourcing has been a kind of dissociation, now I’m learning to have both the negative thing and myself.  Caryn talked about the “shit” and I saw that there were two parts: the shit mother smeared me with, and the wounded baby.  The shit is clearly not part of me and I can slough it off.  The baby I’m committed to, to care for and be with.  And now she looks like a dried apricot.  All she needs is a little water and she’ll plump right up to her full shape.  There’s been a progression, from walnut shell, to walnut, to dried apricot.  When I left I was feeling much better and I feel more solid now as I write about it.