The passion of anna (Ingmar bergman, 1969)
I didn't dare to be myself, even when I was alone
When the lockdown first started it felt like 'Okay, now this is happening.' And I faced the fact that I had little to no option to do anything other than to slow down and I began to appreciate spending more time on tasks: cooking, cleaning, doing the dishes, gardening, folding clothes, etc. I entered slow time. A time to fully feel and appreciate every moment.
It wasn't completely blissful. I felt distracted and anxious all the time, did not have the concentration required to read books or watch films. But there was a real sense of purpose to the actions I was undertaking each day. They helped.
And then Karl died.
Following Karl's death I descended into a pit of despair. Grief was a swimming pool which I leapt into, fully clothed, going to excess to numb the pain, only to end up spending a few days in hospital and a few months in recovery. I found myself sat in a hospital, trying to move my legs, trying to do anything without searing pain running through my body, and I thought 'Okay, now this is happening.'
But what I forgot to consider was the impact on the people around me.
My partner was terrified, my children were furious, my wider family were enormously concerned. I'm sure some of my friends were worried too.
I'd been operating on an internal dialogue where I had assured myself that I was okay, that I was on top of everything, that I could handle it all, but I realised that this was not how things would have looked to someone who was not inside my head. And catching sight of myself in a mirror in the hospital strengthened that realisation.
So once I was home I considered this one carefully, and decided to go into therapy. My reaction to Karl's death had been excessive, it undoubtedly triggered sense memories of my Mother's death (she was only 2 years younger than Karl when she passed - 'too soon' and 'unjust' are words that run through both of their stories) and it would probably be a good idea to get some kind of toolbox to work with if/when something similar happens in the future.
And so I started sessions with Z - my first foray into extended solo therapy sessions: Once a week, every week, with daily writing and meditation tasks, and extended reading and video tasks. I met this with 'Okay, now this is happening.'
One element that Z brought to light was that it is okay to be a construct of paradoxes. This is something I've long wrestled with. How does one human being manage to embody a father, a partner, a son, a brother, a friend, a grandchild, a confidante, a professional, a creator, a colleague, and so on. Each of those roles are so very different, and each requires me to behave a little differently in a given set of circumstances.
When the hammer of the real strikes your routine, when a major event happens, these paradoxes fight - and what happens inside me, personally, is that I no longer fully know how I should behave.
Externally you would not be able to notice this. Externally I would appear to be exactly the same as you always see me. But Inside I can tell the difference.
And inside I seek escape from it all. And I attain that escape. Essence is revealed through praxis, and there is no stopping me at these times.
I should add here that one of the reasons I've avoided solo therapy sessions for so long is because I have known terrible people justify their terrible behaviour with concepts/justifications given to them by their therapists. As soon as I started my sessions with Z I identified this concern, I did not want Z to sympathise with me, or to justify my actions. I did not want to feel emboldened to behave in ways that have critically negative impacts on the people around me. And Z agreed.
But the paradoxical elements of who I am quickly emerged, and Z pursued the possibility that it is okay to be constructed of paradoxical elements. That these parts can sit together in harmony - they simply have to acknowledge each other's existence - to register what each part is doing - and to work together. If working together is not a possibility then new ways of being can be introduced to individual parts, but these paradoxical parts don't necessarily need to be removed, they just need to learn that situations have changed, time has moved on since they first established their learned behaviour, and they can be adjusted accordingly to work together to achieve something beneficial to you as a whole. As a self.
If that's too abstract perhaps you can imagine a 'family meeting.' Four members of a household come together to discuss how best to deal with problems in the house. Those four people remain distinct. Separate entities. But work together. And if one member of the family is causing conflict with another, you all work together to see how this can be avoided.
And so I now engage in these discussions every day: talking to different members of my internal family and encouraging them to work together, identifying parts that may be in pain, or protected by ways of behaving that try to hide that pain, that try to pretend that everything is okay, even if it's not. So okay, now this is happening.
This is not to say that I think I have found the answer, because I haven't. I don't really think there is an answer to any of this. Tasks and anxiety continues, food still needs to be cooked, rooms still need to be cleaned, dishes still need to be washed, the garden continues to need to be tended, clothes continue to need to be folded. One foot goes before the other, chop wood, carry water. And throughout all of this I continue my life behind glass. Looking out.
Essence is revealed through praxis, and while the work I've been doing internally is good, it's one thing to come to these realisations while living in a glass box, cut off from the world, and quite another to put them into practice in an existence of movement, and interaction, and your impact on other egos. And that has not happened yet. Currently I am sitting around a dinner table, as four distinct people: interacting, but also performing monologues - talking and listening. Leaving us trying to live in truth. To do what we believe in. Knowing inside what is true and what is right. And yes, we fail sometimes, but we strive. By being truthful. By believing in each other. How will we get home tonight? We can sleep here, can't we? Did you hear something last night? Yes, we woke up briefly. It was us. We still have nightmares. Yes, we understand.
When the lockdown first started it felt like 'Okay, now this is happening.' And I faced the fact that I had little to no option to do anything other than to slow down and I began to appreciate spending more time on tasks: cooking, cleaning, doing the dishes, gardening, folding clothes, etc. I entered slow time. A time to fully feel and appreciate every moment.
It wasn't completely blissful. I felt distracted and anxious all the time, did not have the concentration required to read books or watch films. But there was a real sense of purpose to the actions I was undertaking each day. They helped.
And then Karl died.
Following Karl's death I descended into a pit of despair. Grief was a swimming pool which I leapt into, fully clothed, going to excess to numb the pain, only to end up spending a few days in hospital and a few months in recovery. I found myself sat in a hospital, trying to move my legs, trying to do anything without searing pain running through my body, and I thought 'Okay, now this is happening.'
But what I forgot to consider was the impact on the people around me.
My partner was terrified, my children were furious, my wider family were enormously concerned. I'm sure some of my friends were worried too.
I'd been operating on an internal dialogue where I had assured myself that I was okay, that I was on top of everything, that I could handle it all, but I realised that this was not how things would have looked to someone who was not inside my head. And catching sight of myself in a mirror in the hospital strengthened that realisation.
So once I was home I considered this one carefully, and decided to go into therapy. My reaction to Karl's death had been excessive, it undoubtedly triggered sense memories of my Mother's death (she was only 2 years younger than Karl when she passed - 'too soon' and 'unjust' are words that run through both of their stories) and it would probably be a good idea to get some kind of toolbox to work with if/when something similar happens in the future.
And so I started sessions with Z - my first foray into extended solo therapy sessions: Once a week, every week, with daily writing and meditation tasks, and extended reading and video tasks. I met this with 'Okay, now this is happening.'
One element that Z brought to light was that it is okay to be a construct of paradoxes. This is something I've long wrestled with. How does one human being manage to embody a father, a partner, a son, a brother, a friend, a grandchild, a confidante, a professional, a creator, a colleague, and so on. Each of those roles are so very different, and each requires me to behave a little differently in a given set of circumstances.
When the hammer of the real strikes your routine, when a major event happens, these paradoxes fight - and what happens inside me, personally, is that I no longer fully know how I should behave.
Externally you would not be able to notice this. Externally I would appear to be exactly the same as you always see me. But Inside I can tell the difference.
And inside I seek escape from it all. And I attain that escape. Essence is revealed through praxis, and there is no stopping me at these times.
I should add here that one of the reasons I've avoided solo therapy sessions for so long is because I have known terrible people justify their terrible behaviour with concepts/justifications given to them by their therapists. As soon as I started my sessions with Z I identified this concern, I did not want Z to sympathise with me, or to justify my actions. I did not want to feel emboldened to behave in ways that have critically negative impacts on the people around me. And Z agreed.
But the paradoxical elements of who I am quickly emerged, and Z pursued the possibility that it is okay to be constructed of paradoxical elements. That these parts can sit together in harmony - they simply have to acknowledge each other's existence - to register what each part is doing - and to work together. If working together is not a possibility then new ways of being can be introduced to individual parts, but these paradoxical parts don't necessarily need to be removed, they just need to learn that situations have changed, time has moved on since they first established their learned behaviour, and they can be adjusted accordingly to work together to achieve something beneficial to you as a whole. As a self.
If that's too abstract perhaps you can imagine a 'family meeting.' Four members of a household come together to discuss how best to deal with problems in the house. Those four people remain distinct. Separate entities. But work together. And if one member of the family is causing conflict with another, you all work together to see how this can be avoided.
And so I now engage in these discussions every day: talking to different members of my internal family and encouraging them to work together, identifying parts that may be in pain, or protected by ways of behaving that try to hide that pain, that try to pretend that everything is okay, even if it's not. So okay, now this is happening.
This is not to say that I think I have found the answer, because I haven't. I don't really think there is an answer to any of this. Tasks and anxiety continues, food still needs to be cooked, rooms still need to be cleaned, dishes still need to be washed, the garden continues to need to be tended, clothes continue to need to be folded. One foot goes before the other, chop wood, carry water. And throughout all of this I continue my life behind glass. Looking out.
Essence is revealed through praxis, and while the work I've been doing internally is good, it's one thing to come to these realisations while living in a glass box, cut off from the world, and quite another to put them into practice in an existence of movement, and interaction, and your impact on other egos. And that has not happened yet. Currently I am sitting around a dinner table, as four distinct people: interacting, but also performing monologues - talking and listening. Leaving us trying to live in truth. To do what we believe in. Knowing inside what is true and what is right. And yes, we fail sometimes, but we strive. By being truthful. By believing in each other. How will we get home tonight? We can sleep here, can't we? Did you hear something last night? Yes, we woke up briefly. It was us. We still have nightmares. Yes, we understand.