Hello faithful several. We're off to Montana on Friday. I'm running around like a headless chicken trying to plan ahead for our return in 3 weeks time. And since I've already confessed to an inability to multi task, I'm leaving you with something I prepared earlier.
Do you remember me telling you about my 'bathtub epiphany'? Well this Journeys Therapy session was the precursor to that. I wrote this last May. It's a little longer than my usual blog (I know, they're quite long enough!) but this is possibly all you'll get for the next few weeks - me being rubbish with technology as well as multi tasking. (Please excuse the language in advance.)
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Letter to myself, 5 years from now.
Monday 19th April 2010
“Dear Laura,
I love you. I forgive you. I understand now where you want to go. I’m standing here in our dream spot, feeling the peace and certainty that you imagined so often and longed for so often, and I feel free.
I feel strong and powerful and light and boundless and filled with joy, and filled with energy and creativity. And I say to you Laura, in this present moment, I say let it go. Let it all go. Fly. You’ve got wings and all the power that the universe has to offer. It’s all in you – trust and let go and fly.
Remember your special suit? Your soul suit! Isn’t it beautiful?! That suit is a part of you, protecting you from confusion and doubt and fear. With that suit a part of you always from now on, you can forget about your demons, about doubt and fear. That suit protects you and ensures that you live your life from a place of love and forgiveness:
Starting always with you – love you, forgive you, the source, all loving, all powerful.
Flap those great big shiny wings and shine! Sing, dance, shout, throw things if you like! Be who you really are. Don’t be scared, love is all there is. Love yourself every present moment and just see where it takes you.
Enjoy!
All my love,
Laura xxx”
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“Now Laura, I want you to relax. Take a few breaths and close your eyes.”
“Now Laura, I want you to relax. Take a few breaths and close your eyes.”
“Close my eyes”? I could hardly open them, I’d been crying so hard. I mean really going for it. Ugly, you know what I mean - all snot and red swollen eyes. I had a pile of soggy man size tissues at my feet, growing ever bigger.
“Picture a staircase and you are at the top. Now I’m going to count backwards from ten to one. I want you to imagine that you’re descending the staircase and with every step you are growing more relaxed.”
Oh, I know this one. This is easy, the old staircase imagery.
“Ten...nine...eight...feeling more and more relaxed, calm...seven...”
Oh shit, it’s not working. I can’t relax with this knot in my stomach. Come on, try to focus. Six, no I can’t get there. Shit. Five, she’s going too fast.
“And you’re standing on the ground. In front of you is a large thermometer marked from ten , most alert, to one, most relaxed. Where are you on the scale?”
“Six.”
“Can you go any further down?”
“No.”
“Oh, ok.”
How can I get more relaxed when I have to answer stupid questions about thermometers?! No, stop, try to relax Laura. Come on, breathe. Ok, ok, now what?
“Now I want you to focus on your body. Where in your body do you feel a blockage? A pain?”
Shit, I don’t know - nowhere, everywhere? Shit. I’ve got this big knot in my stomach. I so want this to work. I so want to have a huge, amazing spiritual experience. I want to be cleansed. Not much chance of that in this state.
“Here.” I press my fist into my solar plexus.
“Good. Now we are going to relax down through various levels. When you reach a level with a strong emotion, make a note of it and tell me. If there are people at various levels then tell me about them too.”
I’m nowhere! Help! I’m sitting here with my eyes closed and my nose running and I’m just here – behind my eyes - nowhere else. I can’t sense any different levels, I can’t see anyone. I can’t do this!
“How are you doing Laura? Is there anyone at the different levels?”
“No.”
“Ok. You have arrived at the lowest level...”
Have I?
“I want you to look down at your feet. What shoes are you wearing?”
Oh fuck.
“Red tee- bar leather sandals.”
“How old are you?”
“Five.”
“Where are you?”
“I’m on the front drive of my old house. I can hear my brothers behind me, it’s hot, the tarmac is melting. The air sounds full of heat – echoey. I’m looking down at the melting tarmac and I feel happy, really happy.”
“Excellent. Now can you see anything that might have caused this pain?”
“No.”
“Ok, well let’s just rewind a little...anything?”
“No, I just feel happy.”
“Ok, what about if you go forward a little - anything negative?”
“No.”
“Right...well, why don’t we just start from the top...”
I told you. I’ve failed it, failed The Journey. I can’t believe it. I’m fantastic at all this meditating and hippy stuff. What’s the matter with me?!
“So let’s begin again, shall we? Counting down from ten to one and descending the staircase: ten... nine... eight...seven, six, five...”
Fuck, here she goes again! Like a steam train! Ok, I’m just going to have to fake it, just get into the spirit of it and forget that I’m just sitting here behind my eyes wondering what the hell’s going on - or rather, not going on.
“Feel yourself descending through the levels. Can you feel changes inside? Tell me where you feel them and who you are seeing along the way.”
Here we go again.
“Can you let yourself drop through to the next level Laura? Can you let go?”
No I bloody can’t. No way am I letting go here - nothing to see, nothing to say. Go away and leave me alone. Come on, move along, nothing to see here.
“Tell me what you see? Look down at your feet and tell me what you see?”
Oh piss and blood, let’s get this over with.
“I see brown Startrite sandals.”
“How old are you Laura?”
“I’m five.”
“What’s going on around you?”
“I’m in my school uniform. I’ve just been to the dentist and had two teeth pulled out. I’m with my mum. She takes me to visit my step dad - only he’s not my step dad then. Tom’s a friend of the family - he and his family live at the end of our cul de sac. We go to his office. I can see stairs and then a glass partition. Tom tells me how brave I’ve been and gives me a silver sixpence. I’m really happy. Mum seems to be really happy too.”
“What happens next?”
“I’m at home, my dad’s just got in from work. I’m showing him my sixpence and the gaps in my teeth. He’s angry, shouting at my mum - I don’t understand what’s going on.”
“How do you feel?”
“I feel confused, upset, I don’t know why he’s angry with me. I don’t know what I’ve done.”
“Good. Well done Laura.”
Phew, I know that memory - it came up a couple of years ago during a therapy session with Lindy - it’s nothing new, nothing important.
“Now drop down through this level to the next. How do you feel?”
“Nervous. I feel all knotted in my stomach.”
“Can you go down another level?”
“Yes.”
“Let yourself sink through this level - keep going.”
“Ok Laura, now we are going to enter your body and locate the source of your pain.”
“...and now we’re standing at the entrance to your body Laura. Do you have your mentor with you?”
“Yes.”
Elvis is standing next to me, resplendent in one of my favourite jumps suits - white with fringing on the sleeves and yoke, each one tied off with a different coloured glass bead. When he moves even slightly they sway and click - and he’s always moving, never still - just like me.
“Now climb into your magic chariot and let it take you to the site inside where the pain is strongest.”
Cool, let’s make that chariot Elvis’s sleek, sexy black Cadillac.. Whoa, steady on, you’re not on Highway One now!
“So Laura, you have arrived in that part of you where you feel the pain. What do you see?”
Oh fuck, here we go again. Well it’s my gut so I guess it’s pretty dark and slimy.
“It looks dark and cavernous.”
“Do you see an entrance? What is that like?”
“Dark too - blocked, closed.”
“Good, good. Now look around you. In the centre of this space is a campfire, giving out flames of unconditional love.”
Cool, a campfire - Elvis is going to feel right at home. And I can see it now - I can see the interior of my gut now. I was right, it is dark and dank and the walls are running and slimy and the entrance is crowded and inaccessible and it smells like rotting garbage - yuck.
I can see the campfire too. That looks more inviting - just like a cowboy campfire - all Red Indian smoke signal flames and dusty surround. Elvis certainly seems right at home there sitting loosely on a log and staring around him.
“Now Laura, who would you like to bring with you to the campfire?”
“Oh, I suppose my mum, and my dad, and Tom my step dad - oh, and Max.”
Might be handy to have him around since one of my main reasons for coming was the guilt I feel over leaving him.
“And how old are you Laura?”
“I’m five - the age I was when I had my teeth pulled out.”
“Now, in front of you is a screen and on this screen is the movie of you and your parents. What can you see?”
“I can see me and my dad - angry.”
“How do you feel?”
“I feel angry, and confused and small.”
“What do you want to say to your parents?”
“I don’t know.”
Shit, here we go again - I can’t do this, I feel stupid, what do I want to say to them?
“Just take your time and think about how you felt back then when you were five.”
“I want to tell them that it’s not fair. I want to ask my dad why he was angry.”
“And why was he angry Laura?”
“Because my mum took me to see Tom and they were having an affair. I want to shout and tell them that they should have thought about me. I want to tell my dad how confused I was by his reaction”
“And what do you think he’d say to you Laura?”
“I think he’d say that he was sorry - that he didn’t mean to hurt me, that he didn’t think about my feelings.”
“And do you want to say anything to your mum?”
“Yes, I want to tell her that I’m angry with her. I want to tell her that she shouldn’t have put me in that situation and that she should have thought about it first.”
“How did your dad’s reaction make you feel?”
“I felt bewildered. I didn’t understand what was happening. One minute my life was perfect, I was happy and life was straight forward - the next minute I’m excited and proud about how brave I’d been and then my dad’s shouting. That’s not the way it’s supposed to be: naughty = shouting, good = praise. Suddenly life wasn’t what I thought it was and it made me afraid and unsure of where to go.”
“Good, good. How do you feel now, seeing this event up on the big screen?”
“I feel calmer, I can see that they were dealing with their own emotions and that they’d forgotten about me.”
“And what does the five year old Laura feel now you’ve told your parents how you feel?”
“I feel released, I understand now, I forgive them.”
“Excellent. Now, do you have anything more to say to your parents?”
“No.”
Well, that’s interesting, I hadn’t thought that that memory was anything special when it came up a couple of years ago. I just thought it was curious that I’d thought I had no memories of my mum’s affair from that age and yet it had been there all along.
“Now, what about Max? What do you want to say to him?”
Oh, I’d forgotten about him, forgotten I’d brought him in with me. I can see him now, sitting next to Elvis on a log. They’re not talking to each other - just watching us. God they look so alike. It’s uncanny seeing them side by side, like father and son.
“Em, I don’t know...I don’t think this Laura has anything to say to him. He wasn’t even born when I was five, I don’t know him.”
“You can be any age you like Laura. What age would you be if you were speaking to Max?”
Hmm, I’m thinking. I’d so completely forgotten about him that it takes me a little while to focus.
“I want to talk to him at the age I was when he was one, yes, about one year old.”
“You mean when you were at the age he is now, twenty two?”
“Oh...yes...”
“And what would you like to say to Max? Take your time, relax, feel the flames of unconditional love warming you by the campfire.”
Ugh, that hurts - ooff, like a fist in the stomach. I can see myself now, standing by the campfire, Elvis and Max side by side, silent, expectant, and my mouth goes dry. How can I find the words?
“Breathe honey, remember, just breathe. That’s it sweetheart, you can do it.”
And I do. I think of Elvis up there on the Vegas stage, his cheeks filled with air, expelling slowly as he stops for a moment and takes in the audience, sees them for the first time and remembers why he’s up there. I can see the fear pushed out with that long breath and his wry smile and slight shake of his head as he wonders what he was making all the fuss about - I can do this.
“I want to tell Max how overwhelmed I was by the love I felt for him. I want to tell him that nothing had ever come close to the strength of emotion I felt for him back then as a baby. It was like being punched in the stomach, like being wrenched from my life.”
“Good Laura, good.”
“I was so young, only twenty two - just a child - just a child like you. I didn’t know who I was yet, I was still trying to find my own identity. I was so sure that I knew what I was doing and that I was so grown up. But I was just a child, floundering around, drowning in all this love. The feeling was so strong that it hurt - right in here”.
I’m pressing my fist into my gut, leaning forward in my seat, rocking back and forth trying to ease the pressure, the pain. The tears are pouring down my face and I’m scrabbling around on the floor for the box of tissues, eyes still closed, seeing myself back then, feeling those overwhelming waves of love and fear.
“I was terrified Max, so scared by the strength of this love I felt for you. I had nothing to compare it with, no files. I felt as if I was being consumed by it, as if there was nothing left of me.”
“Good Laura, good, you’re doing really well.”
I look at my son, sitting by my campfire and I’m back there, twenty two, a student, a new mother, scared out of my wits and wishing I could run away, run from everything. Max was such a beautiful child - black brown eyes and blonde hair, olive skin and Elvis’s mouth - his duck lip, as Gavin used to call it.
I feel as if I’m drowning, slipping under, and the more I struggle the more I convulse and swallow down the seafoam, slithering salty wash - swallowing down my tears, my fears.
“That’s it Laura, take a breath.”
Elvis is nodding, I can see him, still on his log, his eyes kind and encouraging. Max is staring at me - waiting.
“I was your age Max - a mother, a ‘wife’, promising everyone that I would return to college, get my degree, make something of myself - promising myself. I was scared - my feelings for you were so strong that I didn’t know if I could keep those promises, if I could divert my attention from you - ever.”
“Good Laura.”
I feel raw. I feel as I did when I was suffering from depression - flayed and naked and exposed - baring my very soul.
“I want you to know that I didn’t run - I stayed as long as I could. I stayed until there was nothing left of me. And then I ran.”
I’m sobbing - wrenching, ancient tears.
“I love you Max. I’m sorry that I left. I did the best I could. My fears were made real - it wasn’t you that I ran from, it was the crushing weight of life - so many responsibilities and not enough support. But you were still there, every moment, every breath filled with you, my son. Just a child, still a child.”
I feel like a child right now - like the five year old realising for the first time that life isn’t linear, that life doesn’t always make sense. I’m lost and scared and looking for a place to hide - somewhere safe and warm and obliterating.
“It’s a shame that Max isn’t here to hear your words Laura.”
Oh he is. He’s sitting right in front of me staring at me, silent. I’m breathing heavily now - deep breaths in and out. Just breathe.
“Do you have any more to say to Max?”
I have no more to say to anyone, I’m spent.
“And what does your mentor have to say to you Laura?”
Oh, I’d forgotten about Elvis for a moment. I’m grinning now casting a sideways glance at him as he sits quietly on his log. He turns his head slowly towards me and smiles his lazy smile. “Uh huh huh.”
“Oh nothing much - just telling me to love myself and forgive myself.”
“Look at your screen again Laura. What do you see?”
I’m exhausted, dead on my feet, tired from the crying and the talking and the understanding. But I look up towards my silver screen, flickering in the campfire flames and I watch.
I watch myself at 22, a young mother full of hope , full of love, struggling to learn how to mother my child when I still need mothered myself. I watch as I lift Max high in my arms and laugh with him. The image is light and clear and filled with love.
“Just a child myself.”
“Yes.”
“Now Laura, I want you to take all of the different selves that you have met today by your campfire and integrate them all. I want you to remember some of the balloons that we discussed earlier and to use them too.”
Balloons? What balloons?
“There was self esteem and forgiveness and confidence...”
Oh yes, now I remember. I picture myself there by my fire, moulding the pieces together like a Plasticine model, making myself whole.
“The thing is, I don’t seem to be able to protect myself from the negatives in day to day life. I can’t seem to filter them out.”
“Remember Brandon’s visualisation - the crystal dome which lets love in and keeps bad things out.”
I do - I picture me beneath this dome and I feel trapped, awkward.
“I keep banging my head on the dome. It won’t work, I need something more flexible, something more like a skin.”
I can feel it now, a crystal layer, a skin of light and movement, a suit: A jumpsuit - a beautiful silvery-white jumpsuit, just like my hero, my mentor. Elvis is smiling at me sideways. I’m smiling too. I want to laugh, laugh at the absurdity of my situation, laugh at the private joke between Elvis and me, laugh at the serious woman beside me.
“Yes, a suit - I will wear a suit to protect me from the negatives - a sparkly suit.”
Now Linda’s laughing too.
“Yes, I can see that, good! Now Laura, have you amalgamated all of the different selves in your suit? Now you can leave your campfire and travel back to today where I want you to write a letter to yourself. I want you to write a letter as if you are writing to yourself five years from now. What would you say to yourself?”
Oh, ok. I’m still standing by my campfire. Elvis and Max are standing close beside me. As I watch, they put their arms around me and we stand together in silence as the flames crackle and warm. I see myself at five wearing my Elvis jumpsuit - white with red snakeskin trim to match my red Startrite sandals. I’m looking at my feet and giggling with excitement. And Elvis is there beside me in his matching suit.
And I exhale - an endless breath out, out into the universe, out into the day - today.
“Now Laura, I am going to count from one to ten. As I count you will become more and more alert until by ten you are feeling fully awake and will open your eyes.”
“One...two...three, four, five...”
I can feel myself rising, lifting from within myself, hear the outside world and sense the heat from the sun, magnified through the curtained windows.
“Eight, nine...ten.”
I open my eyes with difficulty. They feel gritty and swollen with crying, unfocused and uncertain of their surroundings. I blink and stretch the lids, forcing them to readjust, to see again.
“Now Laura, I’d like you to take this piece of paper and pen and write a letter to yourself. Just write whatever comes into your head, don’t dwell on your thoughts, just write them down. What would you like to say to yourself five years from now?”
Feeling groggy and slightly foolish I take the pen and start to write. Will Linda read it? Am I expected to show others? I decide to plunge in, jump, and I write - the letter you read at the start of this chapter. No, not to be read out loud, read by others - a letter to myself.
My arm is stiff and the pen feels awkward in my grasp. I scribble as fast as I can, still unsure of the purpose, of the readers - embarrassed again by my Britishness, smiling at the thought of Elvis and me in matching jumpsuits.
“How do you feel?”
Putting down the pen and paper I stretch, arching my back and shaking my limbs, twisting my neck one way then the other.
“I feel exhausted.”
“Well we’ve been sitting here for three and a half hours.”
What?! I look down at the heap of soggy tissues, at the sunlight seeping through the heavy floor length curtains.
“I feel released.”
Linda’s smiling at me. I wonder if this is how everyone feels after such a journey. Do I feel differently? I should feel released after crying and talking about myself for three and a half hours. What happened? Anything? No matter, I will take this experience as I find it and enjoy my jumpsuit visualisation, read my letter to myself again and try to remember what I discovered there by my campfire with my parents and Max and Elvis.
Linda and I chat for a few minutes while I get myself together. I’m restless now, eager to get outside into the sunshine. I’ll send Chris a text so that he knows to pick me up me now. Mmm, twenty minutes from Brighton, time to collect my thoughts and have a fag on the bench I spotted outside the church opposite.
As I return from the toilet the doorbell rings. It’s Chris, appearing like the shopkeeper in Mr Ben - as if by magic.
“Did you get my text?” I’m surprised by his presence, confused.
“No.”
“How did you know that I was finished?”
“I worked it out.”
“Oh, weird.”
I thank Linda and move into the afternoon light, following Chris, dazed and disorientated. His younger son Josh is waiting by the car - jigging about in his usual perpetual motion.
“Before we drive back just let me sit for a moment and collect my thoughts.”
We cross the narrow road and I sit gratefully on the bench beneath an apple tree. Josh is beaming and Chris is asking what happened, how I am. My eyes ache from crying and I’m still blinking in the light, as if struggling to surface.
“Can I get them dad?”
Josh is dancing on the spot, fidgeting beside his father.
“Yes of course, here’s the car key”.
Seconds later he’s back with a plain plastic carrier bag in his hand. Josh sits down beside me and starts pulling out an assortment of stuff, bought that afternoon on Brighton Pier. A bag of fudge, some sticks of rock, a white belt with no buckle...and a small, tissue wrapped parcel.
Opening his present on the church bench, I reveal a beautiful oval enamelled buckle. Red and gold and sparkling in the sunshine. It says “ELVIS”.
And I laugh out loud, I laugh at the synchronicity and at the tow haired step son who has given me this gift.
Everything is alright.
(See The Journey by Brandon Bays for more info on this therapeutic process.)
(See The Journey by Brandon Bays for more info on this therapeutic process.)
