The Inner Judge

My inner judge is relentlessly telling me what I should and shouldn't do.  For example, I bought a red floral frilly blouse for the season.  I've always had a penchant for floral prints, and they seem to be in style this Spring.  On Thursday, I decided to wear it for the first time.  I am not exaggerating when I say that I spent about twenty minutes procrastinating as to whether I should  or should  not wear it.  Yes, ambivalence was kicking in full steam ahead.  Ambivalence emerged from a harsh place inside me.  "I adore this blouse and would love to wear it today, but, is this too young for me"?  Or even more harshly, "This IS too young for me".   I finally decided I would wear it because I like it and I wanted to, and when fully dressed thought I looked rather fine and frilly, indeed.  Still, my inner judge kept reminding me that perhaps I looked terribly foolish.  I imagined strangers saying to themselves, "What a ridiculous looking old woman".  But then, something remarkable happened.  At the end of my dance lesson that afternoon, a young man who couldn't have been more than 25 came into the studio to wait for his lesson.  Mind you,  I'm self-conscious just dancing alone with my instructor.  With an audience, I found myself stumbling and forgetting moves I thought my muscles had memorized.  So, when I left, I felt compelled to say to the young man, "I'm a BEGINNER!".  To my surprise, he said, "Well I'm a beginner, too.  Maybe we can dance together sometime.  You're pretty and you can dance". Pretty!!  Music to a sixty-plus woman's ears!  Although I suspect he was just being polite, I didn't care.  I'm so glad I permitted myself to wear my red floral frilly blouse.  Guess what?  I'm going to wear it again today.

Grief

Since I've entered analysis, I've revisited some old grief, and discovered some sublimated grief.  So much to grieve over, and so little time.  Death is such an obvious loss and, subsequently, an obvious source of grief (for most).  Yet despite, or perhaps because of my analytical ruminations regarding the death of my father when I was fourteen, it continues to hold a powerful grip on my psyche and I can't let go of the pain and sense of disbelief that he's gone.  As of late, it seems to have become even more intense. This permanent separation and its consequences never seem to lose their power to literally stop me in my tracks.

Anger

                                        Anger Managed, by Jason Nuttall





Most people who have entered into any type of psychodynamic therapy have probably been told that suppressing anger is a surefire way to induce depression. Why is it then, that it is so difficult to unload our anger at the appropriate time in an appropriate manner toward the actual source of our anger? I am still stewing over some month-old anger. I discussed this particular thunder cloud of anger in a previous post.  Now that I think of it, my ambivalence has fueled my anger in that case.  I've been trying not to misplace my anger.  As you probably know, if you have read this far, this is extremely hard to do.  I'm not depressed at the moment, but thinking about my rage and discussing it in analysis is certainly taking up a lot of my time.

Separation

My analyst will be "out of the office" for two weeks beginning Monday. I am dreading her absence. Last week, at the end of Thursday's session, my analyst did something entirely out of character for her. I was about to leave and had my coat on.  She stepped out of her office before I opened the door to leave and told me that I am unable to allow people in, including her.  As a result, I won't be able to keep her inside me when she leaves.  Thank you for that, I thought.  I also thought, we don't have enough time to process that before you leave next week.  Thank you, again.

Unfortunately, she was correct.  Separations have always resulted in tremendous anxiety, loneliness, and despair. I loathed sleep-overs.  Prior to leaving for summer camp, I would cry for months, and for at least a week after I had arrived.   I've been living in an empty bubble for as long as I can remember. At least since my father died. Decades and decades of emptiness. I am an aging analysand in an empty bubble.

Psychoanalysis is Lonely Work

              The Phrenological Location of Faculties and Organs of the Brain, William Windsor


I have been in analysis for almost five years with a wonderful analyst I will refer to as Dr. B. Psychoanalysis is not only hard work, it is lonely work. This might be a lonely blog.  At least I have begun to blog.