In thinking about what the topic of my first blog post should be about, I landed on where I am. As a therapist, I have told many that the best place to start is exactly where you are, and so that is exactly where I will start.
Today started out tender for me. My son is five years old, and like most five year olds, splinters are commonplace. He got a splinter in his finger a week ago, and I was unable to remove it. I hoped his body could work it out on it's own, and for a few days it looked promising. Upon waking up this morning, it seems things have gone in the other direction and the splinter site looks angry. I scheduled an appointment with his pediatrician and he'll see the doctor today after school. It's a pretty minor situation if we're speaking in generalities. And it's a pretty manageable situation to my rational brain. The problem today is that my rational brain is not the one running the show. I am emotionally panicked and my rational brain is having no luck trying to reason with the panic.
My son had a severe case of eczema that reached it's peak intensity a couple of years ago. We were able to discover what his body was trying to tell us - what he had too much of and what he needed more of. He has made a miraculous recovery in the years to follow, and the ONLY remaining trace of eczema is on this very finger that is housing the splinter.
The memory of our journey that my body still holds in many ways got activated today, and my nervous system had quite a lot to say about this splinter being on my son's already compromised finger. The parts of my body that can too easily recall and relive our nightmare with eczema are scared. Those parts of my body are angry this is happening. Once again, it's just a splinter right? But these parts of my body don't have an expanded lens. They have tunnel vision and don't agree that it's just a splinter. They hate that it's anything that has anything to do with eczema. No matter how directly or indirectly it is related to eczema. They just hate it, and they want it to stop and go away and be a complete thing of the past. When these parts of my body remember eczema, they remember the pain, isolation, helplessness, and the fears of the unknown that our family felt for several agonizing years before we started to get things under control. Those memories get sent straight to my heart, and then my heart hurts and I cry and I'm upset.
So I'm in my upset, I'm hurting, and these traumatized parts of me that have been activated are talking...and unfortunately my first go-to when I am scared or hurting is that I show anger. Yes, I am an Emotionally Focused Therapist! And yes, I struggle with vulnerability in my own life. It is a daily practice for me to feel myself and choose vulnerability. Sometimes I succeed, oftentimes I fail and have to try again.
So anyways, I snap at my husband this morning for not washing my son's grapes with the filtered water. He didn't deserve it. He made us breakfast and helped us get out the door. I should have just quietly washed the grapes myself with my own particular preferences or just said thank you and moved on. But I didn't and he's hurt, understandably. So we don't talk for awhile. He goes to work hurt. I start cleaning the house vigorously to try to move my anger and figure out what the heck I'm actually feeling and what I need.
I realize everything I stated above. That a part of me is scared and needs to be acknowledged and told that it's okay to feel scared. I realize that it would probably feel better to receive some emotional support from my husband instead of carry it alone. I realize I really shouldn't have snapped at him because it wasn't about the grapes. Once I allow myself to feel what I'm actually feeling, I am in a more vulnerable space versus the guarded angry space that wants to keep everyone else away.
I bring my tears vulnerably to my husband. I can't talk for awhile, because you know, ugly cry. Maybe everyone doesn't have ugly cry, but I do. It's when the crying makes your voice all shakey and you can't get out what you're trying to say because it's really hard to understand the words when the tears are shaking up the voice so much. My husband was a champ. Just told me to take my time and that he could even not look if I preferred (sometimes it feels too vulnerable for someone to watch me sob). I apologized for snapping, and I shared what was underneath my anger.
He was able to reassure me that it's okay to feel scared, and of course I worry about our son - I’m a mom and moms worry. He just gave me space without trying to fix my feeling. He and I don't always get that part right. But today we did. My part to keep working on is to bring him my feeling without razors attached to it facing outward. His part is to stop himself from trying to fix and to just try to make me feel safe enough to talk. We nailed it today and that is a win. At least the house is clean, and I'm sure the doctor's visit will be okay today as well.
Couples work is hard. Two people have to sign up to try to do hard things, even when one or both may not feel like it. Individual work is hard. Showing up for ourselves and having acceptance for the many different feelings and thoughts that live inside us that might have different agendas is challenging. Nervous system responses are a normal part of being human (no matter the form that the traumatic event or ongoing experience took). One of the greatest gifts of being human is the opportunity to know ourselves, to know another, and to keep going deeper and deeper. Cheers to the hard work.