Talked to my therapist last night and reviewed that people’s main response to danger is to go into a state of shock because shock reduces pain. Whether it’s physical pain or the emotional pain of being yelled at by a boss or fearing an important relationship is about to end, we use shock to manage it.
Either the shock wears off, or we maintain it, and I’ve learned from Kerry that we can carry very old shock for our whole lives. I carry lots of shock from my childhood. I can’t say that my mother had borderline personality disorder (BPD) because she was never diagnosed with it. I can say that from what I’ve read of BPD, she had many of the behaviors. And the most destructive dynamic for someone to experience with a BPD is to have a BPD as a parent.
My mother was pretty much my whole world because my parents made the decision to move away from their families before I was born, and my dad was quite absent when I was growing up (although my parents were married). So my mother was my source of love, nurturing, emotional support, discipline, and social conditioning. She set my blueprint for what loving relationships are supposed to be like. What else did I know? I had no other models. My grandparents and everyone else lived several states away and we rarely saw them.
But my mother didn’t model for me much that was good about love, managing emotions, handling difficulties or how to treat yourself and others. She was scariest to me when she was enraged and I never knew when her anger would explode. She was different with different people, but with me (her first born), her love was conditional and she demanded a lot. I didn’t feel safe with her and I didn’t feel safe without her. So I didn’t develop a sense of safety or a strong sense of feeling loved.
Today I see that my constant fear of being punished by my mother resulted in my constant fear of getting things wrong. I’m always trying to make sure of what the rules are and I get scared if there are no rules or if they change without anyone telling me. I’m terrible at inferring things because I’m afraid of assuming the wrong thing, so I always ask people to state things in the most black-and-white terms possible. My yes-or-no questions need yes-or-no answers. I don’t know how to interpret nuance. I suck at abstract thinking.
My therapist says I (at the age of 53) need to develop a sense of safety in the world. She suggests I work with these ideas: I am safe. I carry my safety with me. She suggested these statements because statements like God/the Universe loves me and wants to me to succeed don’t mean anything to me. I don’t believe in a sapien universe, a god or any such force or presence.
I’m angry. I’m furious that my mother blocked the feeling of safety I should have developed and that her terrible self-image and view of me prevented my self-esteem and that she showed me that love is conditional and can disappear in a second. In my parents’ house I stayed alert and anxious, tried to walk without making a sound and worked hard to memorize everything my mother said so I wouldn’t get caught later not knowing what she wanted. But what she wanted changed all the time, so close attention didn’t keep me from angering her and I dreaded angering her. As hard as I tried, she periodically accused me of being her enemy and each time it felt like my world was ending.
As upsetting as it is to realize that I spent my childhood in low-level terror, it’s even more upsetting to realize that I still live in low-level terror. That’s what all the rule-checking and rule-making and rule-reviewing is about. That’s why I stuff my brain with facts and definitions and statistics and explanations that make me seem so damn smart. Smartness was part of my self-defense as a child living in a house with a probably-BPD mother. And it didn’t even always work.
Last night I bought a box of two-packs of snack cakes (and two boxes of kleenex). I came home having decided to just plow through those cakes. I didn’t care about sugar or wheat content. I just needed to slap a bandaid on this pain. I opened one two-pack of cakes and bit in. Ew. Not good. I kept eating because I hoped each bite would get better, but they didn’t. When I finished that two-pack, I stopped. I felt surprised, but I didn’t want any more.
I left them on the counter, and this morning I thought Now I’ll get down to business. I ate another two-pack. And stopped. What the hell? They just don’t taste like they used to. Nor do they feel like they used to. It’s the result of having made major physical and emotional changes in the last year. My old crutch, sugar, just doesn’t affect me as it used to, which is a small bit of good news in what has been a crappy week. Yet another crappy week. My depression leaves, but it comes back.
I’ve worked so hard with countless therapists and professionals for 31 years on my psychological mess. I’ve come very far from where I was. But to still be where I am makes me want to give up. After all this work, I still need to learn how to feel safe in the world? I don’t know how to do that. I don’t even know what that means. I don’t think I can. I just want to give up right now.
I look at people in their 20s and 30s and feel bad for them because they probably have decades and decades of life ahead of them.
Hey, another Regina. Hi! Yes, I’ve worked with an excellent hypnotherapist: Lili Betancourt, who’s here in Chicago (although she spends half the year in Florida). Hypnotherapy has been very effective for me and I totally recommend it.
Regina, Have you ever considered Hypnotheray? My Husband recently spent 2 hours with a hypnotherapist for fear and guilt instilled in him by his family after his father died when he was 9. He's in his 60's and says he carried this with him everyday of his life. After one 2 hour session, he's says those feelings/thoughts are gone. He still wants to go a couple of more times. He didn't really believe in it, I made him go. He seems happier and healthier now. I'm looking for a hypnotist for myself now (I prefer a woman). Just a suggestion.
Classikal, that's hopeful of you.
Most of those 20 and 30-somethings won't have decades as painful as yours. With greater and earlier recognition of trauma in childhood, they can heal sooner.