from my journal for December 9<\/p>\n
Erica said my system is so open that the moment I unbend, and see the part as separate from me, I offer a hug and the exile runs into my arms.\u00a0 <\/span>All my life I’ve had sympathy for the wounded, the outcast, the poor, so it’s easy to offer compassion.\u00a0 <\/span>Though I do remember one time with Karen when I was working with a baby part of me \u2014 I think it was a gestalt exercise \u2014 and I said “It’s not OK to be a baby!” and threw the pillow away from me.\u00a0 <\/span>Gosh! I wonder if that’s where the image of the baby on the garbage can came from.<\/p><\/blockquote>\n
from my journal for September 18, 1992<\/p>\n
At one point I said something about wanting to do a dialogue with the inner mother. Karen set me up with a cushion to represent baby Jenny, who is feeling upset and powerless and doesn\u2019t know what to do. When I switched to the mother side, I found I had no good \u201cadvice\u201d, no useful thing to say, I felt equally upset and powerless and didn\u2019t know what to do. I held the \u201cbaby\u201d and told her that. Karen said \u201cYou don\u2019t have to say anything, just be with her, just tell her it\u2019s OK to be the way she is.” I tried, but I couldn\u2019t do it, I threw the cushion on the floor and pounded on it shouting \u201cIt\u2019s not OK to be a baby, it\u2019s not OK. I don\u2019t know how to take care of you, I want you to grow up fast and take care of me.\u201d Then I collapsed into sobs, I couldn\u2019t believe I was saying that, in fact I stuck my butt up in the air like a baby pose, and cried and cried. I went back and forth between trying to comfort the baby, and telling her it was not OK to be a baby. Finally I got to the place where I could see that it was silly to tell a baby that it was not OK to be a baby. Karen said something about the difference between not feeling OK and not being OK. But I can see that I haven\u2019t got it yet, though I\u2019m glad to have the whole dynamic up in the air where I can see it. It explains a lot about my pain about my mother, my expectations of myself.<\/p><\/blockquote>\n
from my journal, written in January 2006<\/p>\n
Bleak.\u00a0 Cold stony wasteland bleak. This hard cold stoniness is not who I am.\u00a0 It is the product of trauma and adverse brain chemistry.\u00a0 This is what a baby feels when she has been left too long by her mother.\u00a0 The hard cold stoniness is a defense, and it\u2019s also how the world feels when mother is gone: no hope, no warmth, no love. My job is just to stay with her long enough for her to get it that I really am here for her.\u00a0 Until she gets that, my attempts at self-soothing aren\u2019t going to work.\u00a0 So I need to just sit next to her, with kindness, reassurance and patience, understanding that her anger and rejection and mistrust are because of her pain at being left for so long.\u00a0 I know and understand that pain.<\/p>\n
Somewhere in here, I had an experience of committing myself to the traumatized baby. I didn\u2019t write it down so I don\u2019t know exactly when it happened.\u00a0 I was imagining a war zone, wrecked buildings, burning cars, dead bodies, a few people wandering dazedly around, smoke drifting, colors all grey and black except for the fires.\u00a0 I see a shriveled dark grey baby lying on a garbage can.\u00a0 I think of picking her up, but I realize the orphanage has been bombed.\u00a0 There\u2019s nowhere to take her.\u00a0 If I pick her up I\u2019m stuck with her for the rest of my life.\u00a0 I spend a moment wondering if I really do want to take on this task.\u00a0 Then I pick her up.<\/p><\/blockquote>\n
O gosh, it’s so clear that when I said “I don\u2019t know how to take care of you, I want you to grow up fast and take care of me,\u201d I was picking up how Mom felt, but never became conscious of.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
from my journal for December 9 Erica said my system is so open that the moment I unbend, and see the part as separate from me, I offer a hug and the exile runs into my arms.\u00a0 All my life … Continue reading