By: Revanche

Some therapy related thoughts

August 16, 2022

At the wedding, I was welcomed as my own person and not only as my relationship to another person. It was jarring, to say the least. I started to form hypotheses why I have, until now, been unable to assert in therapy that I had worth, apart from whatever I earned through caretaking during therapy. The words simply wouldn’t come out of my mouth. My whole being rebelled against stating that as fact and I could recognize it was fear but I didn’t know what the fear was about.

My current theories: A, I was so hurt with my defense mechanisms up, how much more hurt can I get if I choose to be vulnerable? B, admitting or accepting that I have intrinsic value felt like making myself more vulnerable. So maybe I stripped myself of any perceived worth in self defense so that no one else could hurt me by suggesting that I prove myself a worthy daughter. Shortly after our wedding, I had in-laws “welcome” me to the family by saying “don’t be a burden on (your) dad”. (In hindsight, I wonder how much of that was about tearing me down and how much was about their own perceived shortcomings. Regardless, it stung in that moment and long thereafter.)

And after all, I’d already failed to be worthy through beauty or brains, what was left? Working hard.

The warped logic is this: If I have worth that I earned, no one can take that away. I suppose it never occurred to me at that subconscious “I’ll prove you wrong” level that they could only undermine my confidence, not actually take away my worth as a human.

This proving oneself path, of course, is a capitalist hamster wheel: I always have to keep earning. Because what else have you done to prove yourself lately? That’s an obvious issue when I clearly still occasionally feel guilty over not bailing biodad out of whatever situation he’s in now, as if I haven’t already done my time twice over. Another fun (no, not fun) side effect is that I question every single relationship I have: why would someone choose to be my friend unless I served a purpose?

In thinking this through, I actually remember a conversation where biodad compared me to a cousin. Parenting “better” than others is often treated as a cultural Olympic sport and you win by having “better” progeny. He said, with some pride, “well, she’s no beauty but she does work hard.” I’d never had any illusions about my lack of beauty, I was only what, 10?, but that gave me a distinct roadmap to earning my place. So I leaned into that. I can’t change (won’t, actually) how I look, but I can and will work harder than anyone else.

It’s a bit roundabout but I’m testing the theories to see how true they ring.

For the first time, I’ve been able to allow for the possibility that I can be a person with worth that isn’t dependent entirely on my earning my way. It’s still not comfortable and I can feel parts of me straining to kick out the thought but it exists.

Perhaps I’m evolving from Nutt’s survival mechanism?

Being of service, being a provider, has been a huge part of my identity. If that’s not necessary to prove my self worth, as a friend asked, what does that mean?

Off the top of my head, I expected to redefine myself when I cut off my biodad. But I didn’t because I pivoted and the mission went from providing for my dad and brother to protecting my husband and child and dog. So I’m confronting this now.

I don’t think that my desire to help others in and of itself is the problem, it’s the part where I didn’t set any healthy boundaries for myself. So, as an example, I’m not martyring myself for the Lakota Giving project. I feel strongly about it and do make some choices to prioritize them over my own wants on occasion but I’m not depriving myself just to serve this purpose.

I’ve also decoupled my sense of worth from work for the most part.

On pain and loss

I anticipate pain. I don’t anticipate rewards and joy. In my experience, pleasure is never guaranteed but pain? Pain is certain. People will leave. People will die. Lots of people I care about have died and lots more will. Some day, my kids will grow up and move on and stop needing me. And that should be a good thing but the loss is what resonates most right now. This isn’t about the desired empty spaces in my life. I continually and consciously subtract as much as I can to create pockets of space, physical and emotional, for myself. That’s good space. And I need good space to thrive. This fear and foreboding is about loss of control. I can’t control when people move, grow up, leave, die, make choices that I cannot live with. I can’t help but feel those losses as keenly as my first fundamental losses of the people I should have been able to trust from my nuclear family.

On brain weasels

Since the wedding, some nights, I sleep deeply instead of waking every hour or few hours. Usually, the tradeoff is that those nights involve stress nightmares about my brother or my family in some way.

I think the underlying stress of processing my world view, my family dynamics, and all the unknowns is creating a fair bit of mental and emotional pressure. I’d gone a while without consistent nightmares or conflict dreams. I am guessing it’s venting in dreams since I don’t really have anyone who has the bandwidth to ruminate with me.

That reality also raises a sadness that a dear friend of many years is still MIA and I don’t know if she’s ok. I don’t know if I somehow drove her away. I don’t know if she’ll be back. I suspect there is some depression creeping in around the edges but I’m not prepared to meet it head on.

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