I have started reading a book called the Ultimate Guide to Journalling in preparation for the start of my masters course this weekend (this book is one of my core recommended reading-how cool is that?). In this book, the author, Hannah talks about disassociation. She describes this as when we cut off or repress our feelings , partially or entirely, reducing the amount of empathy we can feel from others or ourselves.
I resonated immediately with this word because I am now aware that I spent a lot of my childhood disassociating. I discovered this when I worked with Jane, a therapist when I was living in Argyll. I spent a lot of the early days disassociating with Jane-staring out the window, unable to express what I was feeling, cut off from giving myself empathy or allowing Jane's and desperately wanting to leave.
During lockdown, I knew that it was time. Time to take the opportunity of an enforced retreat to look at why I disassociate. So with the help of Laura, my current therapist, I went deep. At Laura's suggestion I started to do a lot of inner child meditations. These, combined with my strong commitment to look at these issues, allowed this depth.
In therapy, I began to notice that whenever I spoke about my brother, I felt nauseous. Like I was really going to be sick. Yet I love my brother. One of my happiest memories of us is lying on top of my dad's super-van (a 1980s blue Renault van with door hatch which allowed us to stand up at the back and was always rightly known as the Super-Van). We lay side by side on top of the super-van on a frosty night looking at the clear sky and thousands of stars.
It is my brother's birthday today. He is 6 years older than me. When I was 10, he left home near his 16th birthday. He left because of my dad's violence towards him. This is a narrative which was never discussed in the house where the main care-givers were often stressed or in pain. Also it was nt always like that. My dad could also be so thoughtful, funny and kind and well, he was my dad.
Through working with Laura, I had the courage to look at my disassociation and recognise it as a coping strategy. My 6 year old child had remained stuck in a state of scared helplessness after seeing her dad nearly die of meningitis then have a 'wobbly' recovery from major brain surgery. This meant that I had placed him on a pedestal where he had and would continue to defy death. And people who defy death are not violent.
One quiet lockdown day in April this year, slap bang in the middle of project intensive therapy, I had a vivid flashback to being 14. I remembered lunging at my dad with a poker which was lying on the fireplace because he was threatening my boyfriend. At the time, I had spent the night camping with my boyfriend when I swore to my dad I would n't (as you do). I got caught and he bundled us in the car before threatening my boyfriend when we were back in my house. I reacted automatically in a really violent way. This memory brought me to my knees as I realised-I was 14, a kid. I thought of my 15 year old neice, my brother's daughter. And I realised that she would never pull a poker on her dad because she thankfully has no experience of violence in her childhood.
This memory allowed me to begin to release these stuck disassociated feelings. I spent a lot of time crying deep, deep tears-the chest heaving type of crying. I journaled, I walked for miles and miles around the empty city, I cried and cried and cried. And gradually the feelings released. The sadness for my brother, my struggle to accept his truth as a child or an adult because it so altered my memories.
My 6 year old child did not have the tools to see that we can have lots of different feelings all at the same time. She was able to manage by focusing on one belief-that she loved her dad. Laura helped me to see that we can experience a range of emotions, all co-existing at the same time. So I can love my dad and still know that his behaviour was abusive and unacceptable.
Towards the end of lockdown, I arranged a zoom night with my brother. I got pretty drunk on prosecco (total dutch courage) and told him that I was sorry that happened to him, explaining why I had not been able to tell him that before. Afterwards, I was violently sick (and not just because of the prosecco). I had released these stuck feelings.
I have n't spoken to my brother about this since and I probably won't again. It has strengthened our relationship in an unspoken way. I visited him when in Argyll after lockdown and we had a few drinks on our own. He told me there would always be room in his house for me as his kids loved me. Reflecting on this with Laura, she said this felt that was his way of saying he loved me. Love him. Love this. Towards the end of lockdown, I wrote in massive letters in my journal-Feel All The Fucking Feelings. It is pretty awesome now that I am starting too.
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