Healing Body, Self and Soul

Patient Narrative I started therapy because my wife recommended it as part of our separation. I knew my life had been unsatisfying, but I had no idea why, nor did I know how to change myself or in what direction to even go. [Here he tells how much his false self took over his life without his awareness.] The process of discovering how I had been abused, how I felt abandoned even as a child, how demanding my mother had been all my life, and how much influence she (and later my wife) had exerted on my life was extraordinary. I discovered how interconnected my feelings (or lack thereof) and my body rigidness and numbness were, and as I gained feeling in my body, I also gained an awareness of my emotions and how they had been held in check for so many years. [Here is a person who gets in touch with how much his life did not reflect who he was; he was not aware of this! He was not conscious of how much his mother determined who he could be. This is the central situation of the Phallic Narcissist.] Through touch therapy I began to experience my body—it’s pains, it’s desires—and by getting in touch with my body, I began to get in touch with my emotions—fear of abandonment, fear of true success, anger with the authority figures in my life, frustration at my lack of ability to choose my own path. I had turned my life over to other people in my life, and through therapy, I was able to recover much of my own power—power to make my own choices, to resist the manipulations of others, to try new ways of doing myself. Of course, these discoveries and the resultant changes in my life took place over the course of more than six years. However, the knowledge that I could change and the awareness that my body had become numb and my emotions were pushed down to the point of non-existence were seen very early in my therapy. [Your mother was intense with you about your getting good grades. This was important to her because she didn’t see herself as bright. What did she do to push you to get good grades?] My mother shamed my brother and me when we didn’t meet her expectations—not that we weren’t good enough. I didn’t live up to her expectations of me. You dummied yourself down—that was her attitude, her demeaning tone of voice. She did that to me in front of my brother, in front of my dad. It didn’t make any difference who was there. Even at her late age today (95) she still has the same qualities. She still hits me. This was her form of discipline. She sent me to my room, but that was after a paddling. She used a paddle. She took off the string and the ball. The paddle was ½ inch thick. It wasn’t enough to leave marks, but it stung and hurt. That was her intent, to hurt. She is still the same way. She punches me in the arm. She punches me on the back. She still lashes out. She hasn’t changed in all these years. She goes back and forth a lot now. [What do you mean?] I’m a loving son. She has dementia; she doesn’t remember 10 minutes ago. If I am there, I am still her loving son, except if I cross her in any way—it’s a punch, or you are a bad boy. It’s the same quality of life, the same attitude. [What was your relationship with your father?] He was never the disciplinarian. I think this is true with many fathers, living out their fantasies through their sons. The only sport he was allowed to play was baseball. He lived through us in sports: baseball, basketball, football and tennis. It was there that he pushed us. I still remember when I was ten. I was in a Little League. At ten I was B level. That was where I was supposed to be. But they needed a catcher at A level. Dad volunteered me—he pushed me. I was catching boys who were two years older than me and thirty pounds heavier. That first summer I spent with my left hand bruised. It never went away. In football he pushed us to play. Our coach was the same way. They’d say if it rains or is cold, it doesn’t matter. You are football players, and you go out and you play. I played an entire game in sleet, and I was eleven years old. He was like that in every sport. He was always pushing us to be the best players. He and I pushed me into the All-Star team in Little League. I took a year off in the Pony League. He told one of the coaches who needed a catcher that I was good and available. [In ISP did you have experiences that were spiritual?] When I was growing up I don’t remember times when my parents were physically loving to me—cuddling, holding, touching softly. Yet the experience that had the most profound impact on my life prior to therapy was a preaching I heard in 1976 at a Christian camp in Minnesota. The minister was preaching on the Love of the Father. He said that God, unlike our human fathers, loved us perfectly, that He wanted us to crawl up into His lap, lay our head on His shoulder, lean into His chest and feel His arms wrap around us, protecting and comforting us like no other person could. This was my one experience of this kind of love and care until my therapist sat on the floor and invited me to sit between his legs and just be held by him—just as I pictured my heavenly Father doing for me. This action for me was the real connection of the human and the divine. {I was not aware of his experience till after the session. Here is Illustration 13, The Easy Chair.]