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amulThe subject line is from an old poem I wrote long ago. Don't try to make sense of it.
Where is my voice? What happened to the little boy I once was, who found it so easy to say things like "I want my mommy," or "Pay attention to me" or could just reach out and hug someone without worrying how they'll react?
I've been reading Hold Me Tight by Dr. Sue Johnson. A lot. I started listening to the audiobook version on my road trip in January, and I've read it again a few times since then, in audio and text format. It rings true on so many levels, and I wish that I had known the material well enough to use it to try to save several of the relationships that I've lost over the last 2-3 years.
I particularly like her theory about thinking of love as a Darwinian advantage, that love evolved out of a need to protect ourselves, and how being in love feels secure precisely because it offers us a very real, very primal sense of security.
Love, to me, is about knowing someone "has my back." That they are helping me keep track of all the dangers in the world. Love is about feeling like I can trust you to tell me, "No, that is not a danger to us" or "yes, that is dangerous, but we can fight it together." Love is even about having someone who will flee from the truly mortal perils together with me.
According to Johnson, the parts of our brain that process emotional pain like rejection and exclusion are the same parts that process physical pain. "In fact," she writes, "this part of the brain turns on anytime we are emotionally separated from those who are close to us." When my love-relationships encounter turmoil, not only am I hurting, quite literally, from the blow to our relationship, but I also suddenly feel the pressure to keep track of all that once my lover held at bay for me. Not only am I wounded, on a very real level, but now I have to keep track of twice as many potential dangers as I once did. And what's worse, I have put a brand new danger behind me and haven't been keeping track of it this entire time.
The response to this, both according to her and in my own experiences, is generally of two broad categories:
...we either become demanding and clinging in an effort to draw comfort and reassurance from our partner, or we withdraw and detach in an attempt to soothe and protect ourselves. No matter the exact words, what we're really saying in these reactions is "Notice me. Be with me. I need you." Or "I won't let you hurt me. I will chill out, try to stay in control."
These strategies for dealing with the fear of losing connection are unconscious, and they work, at least in the beginning. But as distressed partners resort to them more and more, they set up vicious spirals of insecurity that only push them further and further apart. More and more interactions occur in which neither partner feels safe, both become defensive, and each is left assuming the very worst about each other and their relationship.
This pretty neatly sums up just about every relationship I've ever lost or seen end. But as with so many books, I fear that it is much easier to agree with than to put into practice.
...
...
... and while none of that is really about what is going on inside of me right now, at least I've written something, started trying to express myself again.
When I move to Chicago, deep in the throes on relationship angst, I kept telling people, "Small steps. I just want to take small steps. Don't ask me to make a leap of faith." After reading this book, I feel like most of the choices I made back then were ultimately counterproductive. Maybe that part was wise. Maybe I should go back to that.
Where is my voice? What happened to the little boy I once was, who found it so easy to say things like "I want my mommy," or "Pay attention to me" or could just reach out and hug someone without worrying how they'll react?
I've been reading Hold Me Tight by Dr. Sue Johnson. A lot. I started listening to the audiobook version on my road trip in January, and I've read it again a few times since then, in audio and text format. It rings true on so many levels, and I wish that I had known the material well enough to use it to try to save several of the relationships that I've lost over the last 2-3 years.
I particularly like her theory about thinking of love as a Darwinian advantage, that love evolved out of a need to protect ourselves, and how being in love feels secure precisely because it offers us a very real, very primal sense of security.
Love, to me, is about knowing someone "has my back." That they are helping me keep track of all the dangers in the world. Love is about feeling like I can trust you to tell me, "No, that is not a danger to us" or "yes, that is dangerous, but we can fight it together." Love is even about having someone who will flee from the truly mortal perils together with me.
According to Johnson, the parts of our brain that process emotional pain like rejection and exclusion are the same parts that process physical pain. "In fact," she writes, "this part of the brain turns on anytime we are emotionally separated from those who are close to us." When my love-relationships encounter turmoil, not only am I hurting, quite literally, from the blow to our relationship, but I also suddenly feel the pressure to keep track of all that once my lover held at bay for me. Not only am I wounded, on a very real level, but now I have to keep track of twice as many potential dangers as I once did. And what's worse, I have put a brand new danger behind me and haven't been keeping track of it this entire time.
The response to this, both according to her and in my own experiences, is generally of two broad categories:
...we either become demanding and clinging in an effort to draw comfort and reassurance from our partner, or we withdraw and detach in an attempt to soothe and protect ourselves. No matter the exact words, what we're really saying in these reactions is "Notice me. Be with me. I need you." Or "I won't let you hurt me. I will chill out, try to stay in control."
These strategies for dealing with the fear of losing connection are unconscious, and they work, at least in the beginning. But as distressed partners resort to them more and more, they set up vicious spirals of insecurity that only push them further and further apart. More and more interactions occur in which neither partner feels safe, both become defensive, and each is left assuming the very worst about each other and their relationship.
This pretty neatly sums up just about every relationship I've ever lost or seen end. But as with so many books, I fear that it is much easier to agree with than to put into practice.
...
...
... and while none of that is really about what is going on inside of me right now, at least I've written something, started trying to express myself again.
When I move to Chicago, deep in the throes on relationship angst, I kept telling people, "Small steps. I just want to take small steps. Don't ask me to make a leap of faith." After reading this book, I feel like most of the choices I made back then were ultimately counterproductive. Maybe that part was wise. Maybe I should go back to that.
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no subject
Date: 24 Mar 2011 03:45 (UTC)She's right; these two negative, or insecure, attachment patterns as described above are both unconscious and complementary. Which means that people that tend to resort to one of the patterns tend to look for and encourage the other pattern in every relationship partner they get involved with. And on and on it goes, with one or both partners blaming the other, when it's the pattern of the relationship that is at fault.
It definitely takes work, and usually the right therapist, to change these patterns in ourselves.
I feel your pain; I've been there before. I wish you luck.
no subject
Date: 24 Mar 2011 03:56 (UTC)Oh, and one little nitpick- In my experience, therapy doesn't help "change" patterns, it just helps you notice when you are engaging in destructive patterns faster. Change can only occur inside the specific relationship.
no subject
Date: 24 Mar 2011 05:44 (UTC)no subject
Date: 24 Mar 2011 06:07 (UTC)