By Joyce A. Thompson, MS, LMFT, Abuse Topic Expert Contributor

Click here to contact Joyce and/or see her GoodTherapy.org Profile

Being a survivor of childhood abuse is hard enough. But when one finds the ‘right’ therapist and begins the recovery process in earnest, it can be even more difficult! It’s critical that you be kind to yourself during this time in your life. Allow yourself to feel what you are feeling and not to chastise yourself with ‘should’ and ‘should not’ comments or attitudes towards yourself. Realize that everyone recovers at their own pace; everyone is unique in this process. If you feel sad, allow the tears to come; if you feel angry, allow yourself to vent and spew! If you find yourself feeling happy, don’t feel guilty that you are enjoying the moment. All of this is ‘normal’. Whatever you do, don’t stuff your feelings!

It’s important to take extra good care of yourself during this time. Get the rest and nourishment you need. Don’t take on any more than you can handle and don’t feel guilty if you have to ask others for help. You will tire more easily during this time – both physically and emotionally. If you need to be alone, honor that. If you desire the company and affection of others, seek it out. Do whatever it is that feels right to you. Don’t spend time with others out of guilt. This is a common occurrence that happens between survivors and members of their family-of-origin. If you need that space, honor it! If family-of-origin members (or others) try to make you feel guilty, remember that only you can allow that to happen. It does take strength to stand up for yourself. But as a survivor, you already know that you are strong and you can successfully survive this as well. Read the rest of this entry

By Beth S. Patterson, MA, LPC, Grief & Loss Topic Expert Contributor

Click here to contact Beth and/or see her GoodTherapy.org Profile

The intense and painful experiences of grief are generally considered “normal.” However, when those experiences are extremely distressing, unduly interfere with day-to-day functioning or do not subside to a manageable level over time, the bereaved may be experiencing complicated or traumatic grief. Complicated grief has been proposed as a new diagnostic category in the Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders (DSM), and suggested components of the diagnosis include (1) that sufferers experience bereavement by death; (2) that their reactions include intrusive and distressing symptoms, including yearning, longing and searching for the deceased; and (3) that the bereaved exhibit at least four marked and persistent trauma reactions, which may include: “avoidance of reminders of the deceased, purposelessness, feelings of futility, difficulty imagining a life without the deceased, numbness, detachment, feeling stunned, dazed or shocked, feeling that life is empty or meaningless, feeling a part of oneself has died, disbelief, excessive anger or bitterness related to the death, and identification symptoms or harmful behaviors resembling those suffered by the deceased” (Mitchell et al, 2004, p. 13).

Even in cases that do not fit the criteria for complicated grief as described above, the events surrounding the death may be sufficiently traumatic to interfere with daily functioning or result in unrelenting distress. As a psychotherapist specializing in grief and loss, I have found EMDR (Eye Movement Desensitization and Reprocessing) to be an effective tool for alleviating trauma in grief. As in grief, trauma affects the whole person — body, mind and spirit, and on a hierarchy of needs, trauma must be dealt with in order for the healing process of grief to proceed in a healthy, and healing, fashion. Read the rest of this entry

By Roni Weisberg-Ross, L.M.F.T., Abuse Topic Expert Contributor

When we think of children who have been sexually abused, we think of fear, anger and violence. Most sexual abuse survivors talk of the terror and disassociation surrounding the abuse. Many still feel that way as adults and don’t enjoy sex now, even in a loving relationship. But there are those who have a more complicated story to tell. These survivors may have hated their abusers but experience an unspeakable shame over the fact that their bodies responded sexually to the abuse. They cannot live with the knowledge that they were sexually stimulated even as they were being raped. Now they are not only healing from the abuse but from the additional belief that they were partially responsible for the abuse – and that they may even have deserved it.

While adult survivors can intellectually understand that as children they were victims of their abuse, they don’t always feel that way. And they certainly can’t accept that fact if they responded sexually. Many of them can’t imagine how a child could respond sexually. So they believe that not only are they dirty, but that they are freaks as well. Yet children do have sexual feelings. Toddlers can sexually arouse themselves. And as they get older, many of them experiment and discover that their bodies respond. The myth that hormonal changes occurring at adolescence are the beginning of sexual feelings is just that, a myth. Read the rest of this entry

A GoodTherapy.org News Update

Obsessive-compulsive disorder is a condition fairly well known among mental health professionals and the psychologically-minded public at large. Yet as with so many things, there exist extreme departures from what we’d normally envision of a person afflicted with OCD –and the co-author of a recently released book on the subject is an excellent example. The man, who suffered from the disorder for most of his life, had developed extreme rituals that kept him from leaving his house or carrying out the vast majority of daily tasks; he became unable to bathe himself and spent hours each day carrying out elaborate counting and organizing rituals. That is, until he met the man who would help him triumph over his condition: his psychotherapist.

The two met after the afflicted man’s family called for help, and the psychotherapist, a renowned expert on OCD at the Harvard Medical School, drove three hours to meet and assess the man –and the mind– that would occupy his professional efforts for years to come. That initial meeting was difficult; the young man had developed strict rules for what actions could be taken in his home or around his person, yet psychologist and client were eventually able to find common ground. Read the rest of this entry

© Copyright 2009 by http://www.GoodTherapy.org Therapist Mill Valley Bureau - All Rights Reserved.

By Jeanine Austin, Ph.D.

Years ago, I was working late at my office in social services when two young prostitutes who had just been released from jail knocked on the front door of the building. They were in need or food and clothing. Despite their inquiry, they were somewhat sarcastic and rude. My intuitive feeling was that neither of them was long for this world. They both appeared to be drug addicted and seriously ill.

I got them some both something to eat and then I took them into the storage room to look for some clothes. They both began to choose the clothing they wanted. One of the young women had red hair and when she tried on a blue blouse her blue eyes shone. I told her how pretty she looked in the blouse. Her demeanor instantly changed and I think I knew why. In that moment, I acknowledged her not as a drug addicted prostitute, someone to be thrown away, but as a dignified human being. That lesson has stayed with me throughout the years. Read the rest of this entry

~Written by Karen M. Reed

Truth Teller and Truth Hater are strolling through my life tonight.
An unlikely couple, one majestic, calm, and full of light—the other
dark, stooped, and empty.

I wonder what they are doing together—it hardly seems fitting,
and yet it is as if they are familiar this way—together,
yet distant.

I know they want to speak to me, so I listen with curious apprehension.
Read the rest of this entry

~Written by Anonymous 2

Electric feeling in my face
threading up from my tummy.
Something vibrating, trying to escape.
to run from danger, to go back home,
upward to the Formless

Feels like a dried up cocoon,
like a shell washed up on the beach:
lifeless… crusty… scared….dead,
embalmed….. sarcophagus
covered with think crust

Just one sign of life, a faint red glow, a dying heart.
Wordless, it rocks with acknowledgement of my presence
I move closer
He has no age, he is unborn.

Invite light
Open space above my head
Invite hummingbird and grandmother spirit
Grandmother spirit translates:
This fetus was not wanted
This fetus was lost and abandoned
This fetus died many generations ago

Died within my mother’s mother when she was not wanted
Died within my mother when she was not wanted
Died within me when I was not wanted

The fetus hides from other’s eyes
Other’s eyes stir it and awaken fear within it
The way eyes looked upon it and hearts felt upon it over many years past,
The fetus is afraid of being killed by eyes and hearts.
Lost, hidden, terrified.

I tremble with grief
I tremble with grief
I tremble with grief
For this fetus, for my mother, for my mother’s mother.

What’s that I hear?
The fetus wants to be reborn
Sadness
Hope

Asking for God
Asking for God
But I don’t know how
Asking for God

Something is happening
Grandmother spirit hands the fetus to God
God picks it up and I become the fetus
I am held by God
God is enormous
Enormous and full of love
God loves the fetus and the fetus cries

What’s that I hear?
The fetus wants to be reborn.
Sadness
Hope

God holds the fetus in the palm of his hand and
gently washes it through the current of a river
cleansing the dark charcoal crust and
washing the burdens of rejection away.
And from deep within the lost layers of burdens emerges a glowing heart
that God holds in the palm of his hands

God passes this heart through his body and gives birth to a star

The star shines of many changing colors
God places the shinning star within my heart.

Hope.

©Copyright 2008 Anonymous 2. All Rights Reserved. Permission to publish granted to GoodTherapy.org. If you’d like to comment on this story, Anonymous 2 has given us permission to accept comments here. All comments are moderated.

~Written by Anonymous

In another culture they would perhaps be called visions.

In our culture, we call this “Self-Led Healing.”

I call it taking the hand of my Higher Power, going to a place within myself that I call my Story-Telling Place, and working with my Higher Power to create the story-adventures that cleanse and heal the pockets of pain in that deep inner country inside myself.

Before we begin I must tell you several things about myself. When I was four or five years old I was sexually abused by a man who told me that he would kill me in my sleep if I ever told anyone what had happened. He also threatened to kill my family if I ever told. I believed him; I never told.

I have been blessed with many experiences of healing and recovery in my life. I am also very blessed to have a living, vibrant relationship with a wonderful Higher Power (the one the grownups call God). He both anchors me and gives me wings. Whenever I go to my Story-Telling Place, I always smile because He is there waiting for me and loving me.

And now, the story. . .

Once upon a time, there was a grownup woman, with a sealed-off cave inside her. We will call her Laura. Laura did not know about the sealed-off cave. Laura did know several things. She knew that she had a wonderful Higher Power, a Shining One, who had told her in many different ways that it was time for her to heal and grow, and that he would walk with her through the healing. Laura also knew a trusted Wise Woman, a therapist who sat beside Laura and gave her companionship during the healing times. And Laura knew a few strange facts about herself:

• That she had an extremely difficult time standing up for herself with those she loved

• That she was so afraid of what she was about to uncover that a large part of her wanted to quit the healing process before getting there.

• That what she was about to uncover was very, very important

When they went to the Story-Telling Place Laura felt a strange reluctance. Four times Laura held her Shining One’s hand and asked if He really wanted her to go through this door. Four times he said yes. But Laura was stopped, over and over again, when she tried to walk towards the sealed-off cave and the woman she knew was trapped inside the cave.The first time she was stopped by a black swamp. Her Higher Power built a bridge of gold across the swamp. After she crossed the swamp, she was stopped by a storm. Lightning tore apart the sky; thunder fell like breakers around her, tornadoes of black wind grabbed at her and shook her equilibrium. But Laura stood her ground until she noticed a most interesting sight: A little man, about two inches tall, was moving levers and wheels to create the terrible storm. The storm died away, allowing her to see, in front of her, a black stone box, four feet high, four feet deep, and ten feet long.

“You must not go in!” the man said. “You will die!”

Laura took a deep breath and asked her Higher Power again, “Are you sure you want me to do this?”

“Yes,” he said again, kindly but firmly.

So she held her Higher Power’s hand and said firmly to the little man. “I will listen to you. But you must not overwhelm me.”

The man said, “You will die!”

“Tell the truth,” Laura’s Higher Power said.

The man sighed. He looked tired. “I am afraid,” he said simply. “I know you want to go inside the box. I have guarded this box for so long. Guarding the box is all I know how to do. I am afraid that after you open the box I won’t have any role any more, and you will abandon me.”

Laura looked tenderly at the man. “Here in my kingdom,” she said clearly, “all parts of me have a home. All parts of me are loved and respected and no one ever has to leave. Here, there are fun things to do, a wonderful school to go to, many other parts to be friends with, and new adventures to create. I have never abandoned any of my parts and I never will. You are safe here. You will be cherished here.”

The man sighed again, but before he could speak, a black cloud sprang up, covering the black box.
The cloud said, “This is not right. You should not go there.”

Laura’s Higher Power said, simply, “Tell the truth.”

The cloud sighed. Wearily, it said, “You are right. I am afraid. There is rage inside, so much rage that I am afraid of it. I am afraid that if I let the rage out it will overwhelm me and I will do violence to someone. I am afraid of what I will do if we open the box.”

Laura and her Higher Power talked for a long time to the cloud. They listened to it, and loved it. Then, Laura saw her Shining One lift his hand. She gave a cry of joy as the black cloud immediately became a golden bird. The golden bird was given a golden whistle on a chain to drape around her neck. With the whistle, the golden bird could call for help whenever she felt afraid of the rage.
The golden bird felt better but still did not feel safe. She asked for something more to help her feel protected from her rage. She received an escort of three angels, who could fly faster than the golden bird and were stronger than the golden bird could ever be. She knew that if the rage ever overpowered her, the three angels would fly beside her and in front of her and act as buffers to keep her from harming anyone. “Now that I feel safe you can investigate the box,” she told Laura. And the golden bird and the angels perched up on a high rock, so they could look down and cheer Laura on.

Laura and her Higher Power went back to talk with the little man. Laura asked him what job he would like to do once he stopped guarding the box.

After some thought, the little man finally cried, in triumph, “Curiosity! There are so many things I want to learn, and to do. I could be Laura’s curiosity. I could keep asking questions and learning new things and finding new topics to explore. I would LOVE to do that.”

“That’s a very good role,” the Wise Woman commented, with a smile.

And so, reassured, the little man stepped aside.

Laura gave the little man the role of being Curiosity to help all the parts in her kingdom, and thanked the little man for all he had done for her, and thanked the bird for giving her best and doing everything she did out of love for Laura.

Then Laura stood in front of the black box, and sighed. “Are you sure you want me to do this?” she asked her Higher Power.

“Tell yourself the truth,” he told her, lovingly, but with authority. “You are stalling.. You know what you have to do.”

So Laura asked the bird and the little man to help her.

Together they lifted the black stone cover off the huge black stone box.

Inside, Laura saw the most horrible sight! It was a dead woman! Slimy—death—stench—it was Laura’s face. But it wasn’t Laura’s face—it was death itself.

“How awful!!” Laura exclaimed. “It’s death in this casket!”

Terrified, Laura watched as the dead woman in the casket sat up and pulled the rags off her face. Then both the woman and the casket turned into smoke and completely disappeared.

Suddenly, Laura was free, free to walk through the space where the box had been holding her back. Astonished, she walked on in complete freedom.

“I’m fine!” she said with wonder. “Nothing happened, after all.”

Together, Laura and her Higher Power walked up a path. They came to the edge of the sea and viewed, a short distance over the water, an island on which was a dark cave. Inside the cave was a woman. She looked like a skeleton, with patches of black all over her skin and the saddest eyes that Laura had ever seen.

Surprised at her knowledge, Laura said softly, “Her name is Emma, and she’s been shut up in this cave for 45 years.” Laura and her Higher Power stood and looked at the woman.

“Does Emma have something to say?” the Wise Woman asked.

“She cannot talk,” Laura said. “She doesn’t know how to talk.”

And as swift as kindness and as completely as love, Laura’s Higher Power reached out one hand to transform Emma and her surroundings. “Not one second longer in this prison!” the Higher Power said. He waved his hand and instantly a large glistening flying white horse flew down from the sky and landed on the island at the entrance of the cave. The horse kneeled to permit Emma to climb atop his back. As she hugged her thin body around the horse’s neck the horse took to the sky, leaving the island and the horrible cave behind.

With another wave of his hand, Laura’s Higher Power submerged the cave and the island under clean blue water. The white horse flew down and landed Emma beside Laura and her Higher Power. Liberated from her prison, Emma herself was healed! She had shining brown skin. The black patches were gone from her face. Then the Higher Power touched Emma, gently, on the lips.
“She can talk now,” Laura reported to the Wise Woman. “She’s learning how to talk again, after all these years.”

“What does she have to tell us?” the Wise Woman asked.

And now that Emma could speak, fury, rage, and hostility all poured out. She was angry at Laura for abandoning her, angry at the man who sexually abused young Laura, angry at the people who walked all over Laura, and angry at Laura for not standing up for herself all these years. And Emma was afraid.

Laura told the wise woman, “Emma’s still afraid of being forgotten. She’s afraid that I’ll forget about her again. She’s afraid of being sealed away again, hidden behind the fear of death, as she was. That was such a complete prison—no one dared come near!”

“Tell her that that will never happen. Tell her that you’ll never forget her again,” the Wise Woman said.

“I know,” Laura said.

And now that she could see Emma, and talk to her, the right words came very easily.
“I don’t blame you for being mad!” Laura told Emma. “I’d be mad also! And I am so very, very sorry that I did this. I understand how angry you are! Your anger is perfectly justified!”
“ I gave away my power,” Laura said to herself and to Emma, “I gave away the right to defend myself . . . because that man said that he would kill me if I said anything. So I hid away the very possibility of saying anything! I hid it behind the fear of death. I thought I would die if I looked at this part of myself again—that’s what the casket was!”

Laura talked with Emma for a long time. Then she and her Higher Power thanked Emma. The Higher Power gave Emma many presents.

They turned Emma’s anger, which was very real, and very important, into a pillar of fire many hundreds of feet high.

“It can burn beside the story-telling platform,” Laura said. “It will be like a streetlamp. And when we need its power to protect me, it will be here.”

Emma asked to be a messenger between the anger and Laura, so the Higher Power gave her a set of wings. But they were paper wings.

“You must separate yourself from the anger,” he warned, “or the wings will catch fire.”

And he told Emma that she had to have a hobby.

“The cave is gone,” he warned her. “But if you do not separate yourself from the anger, it will feel as if you are back in the cave again.”

So Emma chose, as her hobby, digging precious gems and making jewelry. Again the Higher Power gave her a warning. “The jewels will melt if you do not distance yourself from the anger,” he said, gently but firmly. “You must learn to live as a free woman. You must learn to have other thoughts besides anger in your mind. It will take time, but you will learn to live free.”

It has been almost a week now since this story happened, and Laura is thrilled to understand, for the first time in her life, why something inside her had felt like death whenever she argued with a loved one and why she had always been unable to stand up for herself with those she loved most. Those old shackles have drifted to nothingness as completely as that black casket of death drifted into smoke.

She is so happy to be free.

In her mind, as she writes these words, Laura goes to the story-telling place and puts her arm around Emma. Together they stand and look at the pillar of flame.

“Thanks, Emma,” she says, simply. They smile at each other.

And Laura knows, without turning around, that her Higher Power is beside her. She feels his presence as warmly as a hand on her shoulder. “Thank you,” she whispers. “Thank you so much.”

THE END

©Copyright 2008 Anonymous. All Rights Reserved. Permission to publish granted to GoodTherapy.org. If you’d like to comment on Anonymous’s story, we have permission to accept comments here. All comments are moderated.

~Written by Karen M. Reed

When I began training in Internal Family Systems Therapy (IFS) several years ago, my whole life became a healing story. It is difficult to even know how to begin or focus in the attempt to tell it. I was drawn to the model after reading Dick’s textbook in graduate school. It stirred my heart. It just felt right to me. And now I know why!

Not long after beginning the training, I started to have difficulties being there without exiles crawling out of the woodwork. I knew I was a woman with a history of what I called “sexual problems,” but I did not know I was a person with a severe trauma history. I should applaud the strength and tenacity of my performing managers, who pulled it off so well they even had me fooled.

Most people who knew me as I was growing up considered me bright, popular, successful, and very likely to succeed. I think we all wondered over the years why that didn’t seem to be happening. It wasn’t that my life was a failure – I just never seemed to find myself or settle anywhere professionally. I always felt like I was running away inside. Truth be told, I was.

I knew that I had been through some sexual abuse as a foster child, and that I seemed to be a magnet for inappropriate treatment by men as I was growing up. As an adolescent and young adult I went through several long-term, destructive, illicit relationships. I blamed and hated myself for them. I remember wondering how and why I seemed to keep ending up in those situations, especially since I was a Christian and did not believe that was the way God wanted me to be living. From the time I had a personal encounter with Jesus at age 13, I loved Him and wanted to live in way that honored the love I found in that relationship.

But in spite of sincere and repeated repentance, and many attempts to find help, the destructive relationship patterns continued. As my despair about myself deepened, I began to develop secret firefighter activities to numb away from what I could not change. Drinking, binge eating, and abusive pornography were my favorites—not only did they numb me, they intensified and reinforced the self-hatred I was accumulating over the years.

Periodically I would seem to be getting my life under control—no destructive relationship for a year or so—hope in sight. But inevitably the cycle would resume, and I would once again be battling my inner demons. Few people knew what was going on inside. I managed to get a teaching degree, a ministerial degree, and more recently, a master’s degree. But I struggled to land anywhere professionally because I was internally tormented over my battle with destructive relationships and the drastic dichotomy I saw between my public and private lives. I did not like myself. I did not believe in myself. I did not know who I was.

I spent several seasons of my life not wanting to be alive at all. I made a few half-hearted attempts at suicide. And yet somehow, deep within, I knew that how I lived in secret was not really who I was. I never accepted it as truly me—I just couldn’t find the help I needed to create the congruence in my life for which I longed.

By the time I began studying IFS in CT in 2001, I had not been doing anything “wrong” in my life for many years. But neither had I healed my history, which was evidenced in my lack of professional confidence, and my faithful, unquestioning commitment to a difficult and painful marriage. I had constructed a story for my life that worked—until the exiles began showing up!

My first encounter with one of my exiles came at an advanced training weekend. The topic was sexuality—no surprise it would trigger some junk for me! I was so blended with the exile who came up that Dick did a piece of work with me. We ended up discovering an infant, who was buried under signs that read, “You can fuck me,” “You can hurt me,” “You can treat me like a thing.” I was shocked, amazed, and awed. I began to realize that I had a lot of work to do, and I began to do it, in earnest.

For nearly five years, as I continued to study and work clinically in the model, I was also involved in a deep and intense healing of my life from physical and sexual abuse, much of which was unconscious to me. I have been on an amazing journey of healing with memories going as far back as early infancy, and even in the womb. Sometimes it was difficult to believe the memories that parts began to show me could possibly have come from my life. But I knew I was not manufacturing the mind, body, and spirit torment, nor was I imagining the powerfully spiritual healing experiences I began to have.

Once I had a taste of what was possible for me through this work, it was all I wanted. Years of hopelessness, despair, and desperation began to melt away as my life started to heal. So often I thought I was done—I thought the peace, joy, and wholeness I felt after healing another exile would last forever. I was always surprised, and sometimes discouraged, to find yet another layer of beneath. But I was determined to keep going because I knew I was finding what I have been searching for all of my life.

Through the course of this journey I have written over 50 poems, most of them in times of deep and intense pain, and many of them predictive of where this path would take me. One of them, entitled, “IT MATTERS,” seems to summarize the journey for me. After so many failed attempts to heal my life, I had concluded that my pain, my suffering, my heartache, did not matter. There did not seem to be an answer for it, a solution to it. There was just something defective about me. What did it matter if I spent my life secretly burdened with self-loathing and despair?

But through IFS therapy I have found that it absolutely does matter, as does the pain of every human being, and there is an answer, a solution. I am so very grateful to God, to Dick, to this model, for the internal homecoming I have experienced in my life. I recognize the presence of God and Jesus every time another part is healed and brought home to my heart. Self, to me, is like that sacred presence—where peace, love, safety, and calm abide. For so long I knew that I belonged there—internally at home, unafraid, safe. I just could never seem to stay there.

Now I can. At last I am at peace within. I know myself, like myself, enjoy being with me. I am at rest with God in a way I have believed in for years, yet rarely could experience. The torment is over. The pain is gone. Joy is now my frequent companion. My life and my work are increasingly an overflow of that joy. I am forever grateful.

It is my heart’s desire that sharing this snapshot of my journey, through these writings, will encourage others to fully embrace and experience the healing power of the IFS model.

©Copyright 2007 Karen M. Reed. All Rights Reserved. Permission to publish granted to GoodTherapy.org. If you’d like to comment on this story, the author has given us permission to accept comments here. All comments are moderated.

~Written by Anonymous

My story is the story of Ana. Ana was my closest companion for almost sixteen years. The name “Anna,” as it is usually spelled, means “gracious,” but Ana certainly did not seem very gracious at times. Ana is a shortened form of Anorexia, the name I gave my eating disorder. In that one word lies the summation of the last sixteen years of my life.

Some years were worse than others, the earlier ones being the most severe. But Ana was always there, sometimes acting as a lifeline, sometimes as an archenemy. She challenged the Self for my very soul.

Ana was always there, but despite her loyalty I eventually came to a point where I no longer wanted Ana around anymore. I wanted her to go away. It was then that I began my Internal Family Systems work.

It wasn’t until well over a year into therapy that I really even dared to expose Ana. Until that point, I don’t know that I truly understood how much she was behind all of the other “stuff” I was working on. She wasn’t causing that much trouble anymore, and she still served a purpose. Why get rid of her?

But as I learned more about myself and more about Ana and the power she wielded over me, I realized she had taken more than she had given. And what she gave came at too great a cost. Spurred on by the desire for self-leadership and a growing confidence that I could achieve it, I finally dared to look this former matriarch of my internal family in the eye. So this is the story of Ana, how I got to know her, and how I negotiated with her until the final confrontation wherein she agreed to relinquish her leadership over the Self.

Declaration of Independence

When I finally reached the point in my therapeutic work where I wanted to break free from Ana’s tyranny once and for all, I knew I had to make a concrete gesture to “declare my independence,”—a statement of my intention to be Self-led rather than Ana-led.” In that spirit, I decided to write an “Inaugural Speech” for my Self. It had not yet reclaimed its leadership over the family system, but I intended for it to in the near future. I needed to make that clear both to my Self and Ana. What follows is that speech, word-for-word, as it was delivered by the Self to the internal family members:

No more. No more bondage. No More shadows. No more caves. No more shame. No more darkness. Step out into the light. The light doesn’t bring shame, but brings clarity, vision, and warmth. You have intrinsic value and worth. Your weight does not determine your worth. I won’t let you evaluate yourself in this way any longer. No more. You are okay. You don’t deserve to hang your head in shame. You never did. You did what you had to do at the time in order to survive. You did the absolute best you could with what resources you had. You will not be forgotten. Fear will no longer prevent you from “taking up space” in this world. Your voice deserves to be heard by others, and it can make a difference in others’ lives. You no longer have to hide the “wounded” parts. They aren’t a source of shame: They are battle scars, hard-won, and reminders that, although broken and wounded, you were never defeated. You are a warrior—courageous and brave, despite the fear and pain. So raise your hands to the sky, Warrior. Peace lies beyond the next horizon.

This began the official negotiation process with Ana, one I knew would not be easy. Having lived with Ana for nearly fifteen years, I knew she would prove to be a formidable “opponent,” and she did.

Ana did not rule single-handedly. She had a number of “helpers.” They were subordinate parts who assisted her, primarily, in taking care of a little five-year-old part named Belle. Belle was always dressed as a ballerina; the burden she carried was that after pouring her heart and soul into dancing for someone dear to her, rather than hearing the praise and encouragement she expected, she was told she was fat. Thus she became caught in a deluge of rejection and shame.

Ana first introduced herself to the family system at this point. Rather than sit back and watch Belle’s fragile sense of self be entirely obliterated, she exiled Belle’s pain and created an elaborate framework of manager and firefighter family members to stand guard over her. There were too many to mention here, but all were extremely loyal and vigilant in protecting Belle from any emotional pain.

This is how Ana took care of and protected little Belle. For many years, this “security system” operated flawlessly; and like most people, Ana did not see the need to “fix something if it ain’t broken.”

When the Self’s “Inaugural Speech,” and the declaration of independence it contained, reached Ana’s ears, she was not happy. She took immediate action and began a series of attempts to stop the negotiations that threatened to take away her power.

When the “negotiations” began, I considered myself to have been in recovery for a number of years. But Ana had been with me the entire time. She had always been “keeping watch” over Belle, just in case she was needed. Once formally confronted by the Self, however, she decided to intervene. What follows is a compilation of several journal entries wherein Ana pleaded her case for why she should stay in power. They are accompanied by the Self’s responses.

Ana’s lullaby

Come back. Come back home to me. I’m your true friend. I’m the one you can trust, who can take care of you. I’ll sing you lullabies, tranquilize you, and quiet your busy mind. I’ll soothe your restlessness. Give you your foundation back. Remember how it used to be. You were focused. Determined. Efficient. Streamlined. Life was simple. It was just you and I. Nothing came between us. No one interfered. I gave you self-esteem. You could measure your worth every day just by looking at that magic number. Down it crept and the closer the two of us became.
You can trust me. You can count on me. You know I will always be there for you. What else in the universe can provide that for you? Nothing and no one. Humans fail. They let people down. But not I. I am always fair, straightforward, predictable, constant. No games here. I am straight as an arrow. I never change the rules. I never try to catch you off guard. I am always there for you.

Need a dose of self-esteem? Bam! Instantly that number is on the scale for you—instant reinforcement. Need to be reminded that you can accomplish something, that you still have strength and willpower? Bam! I am there for you. Hop up on the scale. I got your back, baby. You will never find a better deal than me. You know it. You can’t deny it. You know it’s true. You know you want this. You know that sometimes you miss me so bad. You can play your little therapy games and say that you don’t need me anymore, but we both know you won’t make it on the other side. You’re too fragile. You’re not sturdy enough. You need me because I’m the only chance you’ve got to make it in this world. You don’t have the stomach to deal with the world without me. You invited me in. You asked me for help, and I gave it to you. No catch. No fine print. Just help when you needed it the most. I know you better than you know yourself.

When you finally come to your senses and stop playing games, I’ll still be here for you. I’ll wait however long it takes because I’m loyal. So, go ahead, play the brave soldier, put up your best fight, little girl. Every child rebels against their caretaker at some point. Have your day. You have my blessing. But remember your place. When I speak, you still tremble at the sound of my voice. I dare you to find a voice that speaks louder than mine.

Ana was convincing and powerful, and Belle and I struggled to listen to the growing volume of the voice of the Self rather than to Ana’s voice. And although the Self’s voice ultimately did drown out Ana’s, we couldn’t help but to reminisce about the good old days and court Ana a bit during the negotiation process. At one point, we became panicked about what life might be like without her leadership.

Corset

Ana, where are you? I need my corset. You have always been my corset, holding me together. Holding me tight. I used to be able to feel you in the tightness of my stomach. I used to see your corset when my rib bones poked through my skin Cinched up tight around me. Strings pulled taut. Waist sucked in. A little hard to breathe, a bit constricted, but it felt safe. It gave me support. It didn’t let me fall. You hugged me with your tightness. I miss you. You held me together so all my emotional guts didn’t come spilling out.

Now your corset is no longer there, and I’m afraid that if you no longer hold me together, I am going to fall apart. The strings have come undone and so will I. I no longer have my corset to hold me together, and my emotional guts are falling out onto the floor and making a terrible mess. I wrap my arms tight around myself and try to hold myself together, but I don’t know how yet. It doesn’t work, and my guts just keep falling out onto the floor and making a terrible mess. What if I allow myself to fall apart and no one knows how to put the pieces back together?

What if I’m Humpty Dumpty?

Humpty Dumpty sat on a wall
Humpty Dumpty had a great fall
All the King’s Horses and all the King’s men
Couldn’t put Humpty together again.

It’s not about being attractive. It’s about trying not to fall apart.

The Self continued to grow stronger, however, and its influence grew. Belle began to trust its wisdom, and she started to grow and mature into a young woman. She also started to believe that maybe life under Ana didn’t fit her anymore—that perhaps she had outgrown Ana.. The following is a conversation between the Self and Belle.

Clothes

“Belle, you have been trying on Ana’s clothes again, haven’t you?”
“Yes.”
“Her clothing is too small for you now. It’s too tight. It’s constricting you.”
“I know.”
“But you miss how she used to fit you—perfectly.”
“Yes.”
“You’re trying to shrink yourself back into her clothing.”
“Yes, but just for a little while. I’ve only lost a little weight. I wanted to wear her clothes one last time before saying goodbye. For old times sake.”
“I think you are playing with fire. I think you need to be careful. If you shrink yourself back completely into Ana’s clothes, you may not want to take them off again. That could be dangerous.”
“I know.”
“You have grown. You aren’t supposed to fit into Ana’s clothes anymore. Ana’s clothes are for a child, and you are no longer a child. You are shaped differently now. You have curves and complexities and depth. You are no longer shaped like a little girl. You are shaped like a woman. You don’t have to be naked and unprotected, you just need new clothes. Clothes that will fit you and will allow you to continue to grow. Ana has no more clothes to offer you. You have outgrown all of them. It’s time to stop trying to fit into clothes that constrict and bind you. It’s time to sew your own new clothes: clothes that will highlight and flatter who you are becoming, because who you are becoming is who you are truly meant to be.

By this time, Ana realized that her leadership was about to end, and she made one last desperate attempt to hold on to it. My weight made one more dramatic plunge, and Belle agreed to have one last meeting with Ana to hear her plead her case. Ana prepared well and was very convincing, reminding Belle of all they had accomplished before, how simple life would be again under her rule, and how scary life would be without her.

Ana was convincing, and after the meeting, Belle was torn. She knew that self-leadership would ultimately be the wiser decision, but she panicked over the prospect of no longer being taken care of by Ana.

This played out as one very torturous and sleepless night filled with internal debate over whether or not I should just “check out” of the whole “therapy crap” and welcome Ana back with open arms. Therapy is hard and scary at times. And learning to take care of myself and be taken care of by my Self seemed a lot harder and scarier than just letting Ana take care of me again. I decided to just give in. I had already lost some weight; it wouldn’t be hard to just keep going. In my mind, I planned to sign a new contract with Ana, and we would be back in business

The next day, I arrived at work feeling something was “off.” Closing the door to my office, I began trembling uncontrollably. My teeth began chattering. The trembling and chattering kept getting worse despite my best efforts to make it stop. I eventually called my therapist, who arranged to meet with me later in the day. The following is what took place during the therapy session later that day.

Confrontation

A conference room. A large table. Seated at the table are Belle and Ana (her subordinate parts in the background). Ana looks weary, but determined. She holds the contract in her hand and places it in front of Belle for her to sign, explaining it’s all for her own good—it’s for the best.

Belle resists. “No. I will not sign! I will not have her in charge again! I won’t! I don’t deserve this. This is not for the best! This is not for my own good! She doesn’t know what is best for me! I will not be bullied by her any more!”

I watch the scene take place through the eyes of the Self. Belle looks directly at me and urges the Self to take action. This is the first time Belle has ever bothered to speak up and to ask the Self to intervene. Up until this point, Belle instinctively knew that the Self was not strong enough to hold leadership in the face of Ana’s power. But now Belle prompts the Self to take action, confident that it is now capable of assuming the leadership it rightly owns.

No longer overpowered, the Self negotiates with Ana, acknowledging her efforts to protect Belle for so many years. The Self explains that Ana’s services are no longer needed, that rather than helping Belle, they were actually harming her. Instead, Ana is given permission to take a rest, a rest that is well deserved after so many years of such hard work.

This scene was obviously not the end of the work that was done in this internal family system—the work continues even to this day. But this was the moment when the Self first assumed its leadership, and it was a turning point in my internal family.

When I first began to work with Ana, I thought that the only way I could succeed in breaking free from her grip was to see her simply as the enemy. But when I got to know her better, I realized that she, like me, was a much more complex entity. I realized that it wasn’t in hating her that I would gain my freedom, it was in befriending her and understanding her.

Ana wasn’t simply the enemy, she was also my primary caretaker for many years and deserves credit for that. She allowed me to survive during circumstances that would have otherwise been unbearable. She is part of me, and to hate her would be to hate myself. She was not a demon that needed to be exorcised. Her work was simply done.

She took care of me for many years, and now I will return the favor by taking care of her and allowing her to rest. In doing so, I will give her a new job as my teacher and guide. And I will call on her from time to time to ask her to share the wisdom she holds about life and about me. In the end, Ana, whose name means gracious, but was not thought to be so, displayed the ultimate act of grace in agreeing to hand over her leadership to the Self for the good of the entire internal family system.

Once, seemingly an enemy, Ana showed me the depths of despair, brought me to the edge of insanity, and allowed me to flirt with death. Now, as an ally, Ana helps show me how to live.

©Copyright 2007 GoodTherapy.org for Anonymous. All Rights Reserved. Permission to publish granted to GoodTherapy.org. If you’d like to comment on this story, the author has given us permission to accept comments here. All comments are moderated.