Embracing Healing: Finding Gratitude for Your Protective Self

Hey friend,

There’s so much to say, and I have no idea where to start. The feeling of impending flooding is never fun. I’ve been learning and healing so much lately that, as of today, I have a different view of that foreign thing that stirs up in my chest and bubbles up into my lungs right before I save myself from it and choke it down. I do it so naturally, so instinctively, and always just in time to catch it before it leaves my throat. (The same throat that my body has since begun to attack. Isn’t it Ironic? I can’t help but smile at the way those words came alive as I typed them, and I could totally hear them sung by Alanis Morrissette in my head. Isn’t it ironic.)

Our brains are incredibly powerful, and mine has done an excellent job at keeping me safe. Dr. M’s question has been lingering in my head since I saw her yesterday. “Can we find gratitude for her? For the her that’s been protecting you?” Along with questions such as, “Who is she?” Since I’ve left her office, I’ve allowed myself to consider her. And only after I got assurances from Dr. M that I do not have multiple personalities. I was honestly scared for a second, and that was getting in the way of me doing the work. Who is she talking about?! I wondered, and I am now thankful that I had enough courage to ask. By her, she is referring to the 3-4-year-old version of myself that first started disassociating and turning off the feeling switch and has been standing guard ever since. So basically, I have my brain to thank for still being alive.

The way this plays out in my imagination is like this; my three to four-year-old self is manning the ship, and whenever she perceives danger, she yells mayday-mayday, hits the switch to kill all systems, throws herself off the boat, and floats away wherever the ocean might carry her. And for the first time in my life, I’m starting to realize that I don’t need to do that anymore. “I’m here now, and I am the safe adult.” I know it’ll take work, but as of right now that is very helpful for me to hear.

All in all, I am proud of myself. I am not just grateful, but I am sincerely proud of myself. My brain did its job. It did precisely what it was designed to do; protect me at all costs. And if you’ve had hard things happen that were too big for you to handle, for whatever reason, then your brain has probably been protecting you, too. Whatever it was, I’m sorry, friend. But things can get better. It’s hard, and it’s messy, and it’s not always fun, but it is so worth it. I know that to be true because the real versions of you and I are on the other side, not this watered-down version that we’ve deemed safe enough to represent us as we navigate this world. 

Yesterday, Dr. M and I went back to a hard memory, and as she dug into the sensations in my body and the emotions that I was feeling, she asked me how I felt, and my response both shocked and saddened me: Like I want to blend into the paint on the wall. Understanding that I pretended to be the paint on the wall hurts my heart. But acknowledging it has helped me to make more sense of it because, in the past, I’ve written about the little monsters that lived in the walls of the house that I grew up in. As Dr. M and I navigate the hard work, we are starting to unlock things that I’ve neatly hidden away deep in the recesses of my body. As we go there, my subconscious also understands the assignment, and for that, I am thankful. Because then, I can finally get it processed and out of my system once and for all. 

The night before last, I had a dream that scary clowns were on the walls of the house I grew up in. All of the doors in the house had been painted over, so I couldn’t find them, let alone open them. I was small, and I was so scared, so I was looking for my mom, and as I was frantically trying to find the spot where I knew her bathroom door once was, I caught the subtle outline of the door frame buried beneath the paint. So, I scratched the paint away with my little fingers as best I could, and when I finally got the door open, I froze in fear as I saw my mom sitting there with a red wig, a red nose, and a clown costume. She didn’t want me to find her. She was a scary clown, too. “Thank you, self, I say.” Now, we are going togive that to Dr. M, and she will hold onto it until next Wednesday. 

Instead, I think about the broken safe I recently encountered at my hotel. The broken safe that I couldn’t get my things out of because it was faulty. And I think about the key that was shipped, which arrived three days later and finally allowed me access to my things, and I tell myself, this is just like that. Except that the broken safe is in Dr. M’s office, inside a big file cabinet where no one can access the contents, not even her, and she will let me know when the key arrives. Just like they did at the hotel. 

We are going to be alright, friend, just one hour at a time. 

iK