My internal conflict is such that I do not trust anything, not anything in the world or anything in myself. If I think of something to say I think immediately of why it is wrong or stupid or self-serving- not self-serving in achieving anything useful at all, but self-serving in maintaining ridiculous illusion for a minute longer. But I don’t trust the judgment either.
I am glad I am alone at home after that session, as I feel destabilised, but I feel the destabilisation is useful, lifting the lid off conflicts which are going on all the time in me so that we can reconcile them.
I had felt that I was reconciling the conflicts. I was proud of “speaking from the heart”, honestly and openly rather than from behind a mask, which felt as if it were welded on. Then with Louise I did not want to. Speaking conventionally and maintaining appearances seemed as dead and worthless as it has ever seemed. Speaking openly and honestly to someone I trust but still have to maintain an ongoing relationship with felt too frightening. That was Thursday. On Saturday was Jamie Catto’s group, when I was thinking of “not sharing”- still speaking, but from behind a mask, this time for protection of myself, and chosen, rather than imposed. I wanted to Not-share, to say some conventional things, and from that thought found my sharing still heart-felt, and safer: the mask is mine, the sharing my choice. Comments from the Chat: “Love it!!!” “Ace” “Wow” “Fabulous!”
And today with Linda I am tongue-tied. Writing of it now, I feel much more integrated, choosing what to write, clear, and truthful, but in the session I felt difficulty speaking, and split. Not between a feminine protector and a driver, but between a masculine protector, practical, business-like, wanting value from the session but not wanting to be emotional, and the feminine side which I value highly- “speaking from the heart”, authentic self, real self- but right now judge harshly. And I judge them both. I want to say something, it flashes through my mind and then I judge it. Speaking gets more and more difficult, and by the end I can hardly speak: I can’t say anything without telling a story as evidence for its truth, but the evidence will never be enough. I project my judgment onto Linda. I don’t trust the masculine protector, or the Heart, and I don’t even trust the judgment, which always condemns completely and so is like a stopped clock with one answer. I can’t trust anything inside or outside me.
I say to her I am in her hands, as the professional. She says she wants a collaboration, to create something together, and I have the power to refuse. I say this is a safe space, as for her to hurt me at this distance she’d need a cruise missile, but that’s not true, exactly: she can make me very uncomfortable indeed.
Something like I asked her to say to me “You are beautiful” but I don’t know what exactly. I think I asked for it straight out. “You are beautiful,” she says. “How does that make you feel?” I don’t believe her. I think of that IB client. At the end, I gave him my normal reassuring speech, and she repeated it to him as if he had not heard it, only taking out all the kindness and respect from it.
Here is the transference. (I think I use the word correctly.)
Hello, Mum.
Putting the bin out this morning, I had a blackberry from the unkempt car park behind my neighbour’s house. The brambles poke through the fence. It is my first of the year, so I go down through the fields to the park, grazing. Most are unripe, and there is a lot of blossom still about, but there are a few, plump, soft, dark, sweet and beautifully full-flavoured. Two men are grazing, and we exchange words about how some are sour but some so sweet.
With Pendle Hill I considered unmuting and speaking on this. “I had my first blackberries of the season”- no, daffodil ministry. What about “Praise God for God’s bounty and the beauty of creation”? But I don’t know that this is right for these people. I look through the videos. Many of the same people come daily. What about sharing at the end of worship, in that strange American custom of “Joys and Sorrows”? I glad I did not, as today there are sorrows of death and terrible illness including covid. I am not speaking from the heart because of my intellectual analysis. “Praise God for God’s blessings” might have been worthwhile.
Clare Flourish 