To my analyst, the closest thing I have to a mom: Happy Mother’s Day.
Induction and transference in psychoanalysis: the unconscious is fascinating!
My analyst is trained in modern psychoanalysis, which is very similar to traditional analysis, or what you think of when you think of Freud. But this guy, Hyman Spotnitz, came along and basically said he thought everyone could be analyzed, even schizophrenics, whereas Freud did not think analysis was applicable to everyone. Spotnitz’s basic goal was to get the client to “say everything”. (This is part of the reason my analyst is so awesome – I can email her ’til her inbox won’t hold anymore and she’s cool with it, because I am putting thoughts and feelings into words – discharging energy in a productive way.)
Anyway, my analyst knows that I want to be an analyst (I think she may be a little put off by this idea, but perhaps that is transference), and so she is letting me borrow her analyst books. The first one she gave me is Modern Psychoanalysis of the Schizophrenic Patient by Spotnitz, also known as “The Red Book”. I’d been reading along, googling the many things I don’t understand, writing my analyst emails about this theory or that technique. Then I came across what felt like a recipe for a “cooperative analysand”, as Spotnitz called it. It felt so creepy and manipulative. And then I thought, why not my analyst? If she was trained in this discipline, isn’t she also playing mind games with me? What the fuck is this analysis shit, anyway?
What it came down to was transference. With a history of stalking and sexual abuse from my grandfather, I was assuming my analyst had creepy attributes and was trying to manipulate me into doing what she wanted. It kind of blew up in our relationship but we were eventually able to identify that what was going on was actually transference. My analyst isn’t being, and has never been, inappropriate with me. And now we’re both aware that if those feelings surface again, we will know what we’re dealing with.
Transference is an interesting phenomenon, certainly, but I find induction to be even more fascinating. Induction is a big part of modern analysis because the analyst is trained to use the emotions induced in them by the client as a tool to understand the client’s life as well as for interventions. I’m not quite sure how it works, and it seems a little weird, but my analyst said she’s seen it a million times, and it’s really the result of the unconscious. Small things like body language and probably mirror neurons conjure up countertransference feelings in the analyst. If the analyst is well-trained, he or she will identify that they are being induced and will use that as part of their work with the client.
I recently went away for a long weekend to attend a wedding out of state, meaning that I wasn’t physically with my analyst on Thursday or Friday. We did talk on the phone, but the feeling of connection was weak at best. After all, I sit next to her every session, so this change was pretty drastic for me. Then, of course, we did not talk at all on the weekend, and I started shutting down. I stopped feeling, which was great, and I emailed my analyst and said that maybe I shouldn’t be doing therapy – I was doing fine without it.
What I really wanted, though, was more connection. I walked into her office on Monday desperately wanting a hug, but not being aware of it. Growing up in a household where hugs were pretty much unacceptable, not being able to shake off my need for connection, and not understanding what I was feeling or what was going on, I was stuck. I wouldn’t sit next to my analyst, I was frozen on the floor – and she played right into it. The more I wanted connection but stopped myself from seeking it, the more distant my analyst became. I worked up the courage to sit next to her, and she was emotionally distant. She was completely unlike herself. It was a mess.
This went on for a few more days until I understood what had actually happened. After telling my analyst, she informed me that she was likely induced to be my mother. My mom is awkward around physical contact and I spent much of my childhood wishing for connection. Instead, I received the message that this desire was unacceptable. This same scenario was reenacted with my analyst, because I induced her to behave the way in which my mom did. Weird? Yeah. And really hard to sort out. Both the client and the analyst have to be aware of what’s going on and willing to work things through – I definitely considered leaving the relationship. But! It’s important to trust the process. The unconscious is fascinating.
Touch in therapy is uncommon. Touch in psychoanalysis is rare, and rarer still is it discussed. But, it has had a profound impact on my analysis and I feel that it is important to talk about.
My analyst has been sitting with me for five weeks. We sit on the floor, backs up against the dead-cow couch, side by side, arms touching. Since it is summer, I sometimes have the privilege of directly feeling her skin, if she is wearing short sleeves. I always wear short sleeves.
We sit like that the entire session. I always ask before sitting on the floor – I do not want to violate her space. I can usually tell what kind of mood she’s in from our close proximity. When I get upset with her, I move away slightly. On a few occasions, I have become so exhausted from the material that I have laid my head on her shoulder. We have hugged twice. She has held me, and put her head against my own. I usually keep my hair down so I can hide behind it, eyes closed, so I can feel her. Feeling her allows me to not feel like a helium balloon, looking down on the world below and wondering how to get back. Touching her is so basic and primitive, and also provides so much depth and richness, that I have difficulty articulating the effect it is having. Or maybe that’s just the goddamn alexithymia.
I have a difficult time with the fact that we do it, though. While there is nothing sexual about it and it is not a secret – my husband knows, my analyst’s supervisor knows – it feels slightly taboo. Part of this may be because touch in psychoanalysis, especially in this manner, would probably have Freud rolling over in his grave. But I think the biggest reason for me is because we did not touch each other in my family.
It was always the message from my parents that bodies are dirty, in a sexual way, no matter what you do with them. Of course, you can engage in varying degrees of disgustingness – sex is dirtier than everything, probably except for masturbation, but breastfeeding, childbirth, puberty, hugging, and sharing food off of your plate are all dirty. Yet, as I’m discovering with my daughter, safe, non-sexual touch can be a wonderful way to connect and has all sorts of physical and psychological benefits. There is nothing like kissing the smooth skin of a baby’s belly, or smelling the back of their neck, or tracing their tiny shoulder blades.
So, even though I know, intellectually, that touch with my analyst is also safe and non-sexual and feels good and it is okay to feel good that way, it still feels… clandestine. As I explained to my analyst, it is like your parents not letting you eat dinner and then sneaking to the refrigerator when they’re sleeping. There’s nothing wrong with eating, but it feels like you’re doing something bad, anyway. My analyst didn’t miss a beat. “You’re starving,” she said.
Analysis is interesting, intense, intimate.
My analyst is really good. Her interpretations are accurate, but it’s about more than the interpretations. She is present with me. She is thinking about what I’m thinking about. When she makes mistakes, she apologizes and learns from them, and moves on. When I make mistakes, I apologize, learn, and move on. In just four months, we have a good relationship.
Of course, it is important to be honest, but I’m seeing just how important that is. It really goes a long way in moving the analysis. And when I am honest, there is no judgment on her part.
I’ve learned a lot in a few short months. My mother was constantly over- or under-stimulating, so I engage in self-destructive behaviours to recreate that inner state – it’s all I’ve known. Thankfully, my analyst listened to what I needed and agreed to sit next to me during our sessions. Her physical presence keeps me calm, which is something I don’t experience outside of her office. I’m able to tolerate more difficult topics and more boring sessions without feeling like I need to run to the bathroom and hurt myself.
Also, my analyst identified how my parents’ harmful patterns are now seeping into my daughter’s life. Thankfully, my daughter remains unaware of these influences, but it is important to me that they are stopped before she becomes affected by them. It sounds like it’s time that I put in some firm boundaries. It’s a scary prospect because it means my parents will likely end up hurt, and I might feel them pull back from me. But my daughter’s wellbeing must come first. There is no option, there.
There is still a lot of work to be done. Alexithymia is a bitch. It is often difficult for me to know how to think or feel or act in many situations because I was never taught how. But I have a lot of faith in my analyst and in the process of the analytic relationship. There is movement.
My tiny baby is almost a year old, and she really isn’t tiny.
The nostalgia is hitting me hard. At this time last year I was ridiculously pregnant and hot and irritable and I wanted that baby out. A lot of my pregnancy, actually, was uncomfortable and tinged with ambivalence. I had no idea how to be a mother and was skeptical if I should be one, if I was so uncertain of how to take care of a baby. I felt a fierce amount of protection around the little creature who kept kicking my ribs, but I didn’t know if I would know how to love her. Becoming a parent is the most natural thing a person can do, and I was at a loss.
Everywhere I turned I came up empty. There was the American influence of getting your baby to be independent as quickly as possible. It was confusing advice as it went against my better judgment. And turning to my mother was no help. Looking inside myself for answers was murky and unclear, because I wasn’t properly mothered myself. How can you be what you’ve never known?
My analyst is now sitting next to me on the floor, as per my request. She remarked yesterday that it’s about meeting me where I am, which is exactly what I’m trying to do with my daughter. I think it is working. We have a very strong bond, and her little spirit is not broken.
But I am still wistful for the days of my pregnancy. I wish I could go back and reconnect with my baby in that way. I worry that she could feel how unsure I was about being a mother. Now I am trying to be with her exactly where she is, in case she needs extra reassurance that there was not one second of her life in which I did not love her with every fibre of my being.
“‘Please help me, but you will see that I am stronger than you.'” – McDougall, The “dis-affected” patient
This sums up my analysis entirely.
Since I started therapy almost three years ago, I have often had difficulty feeling feelings or naming them. My therapist would ask what I was feeling and I would answer honestly, “I don’t know”. She would ask if I could guess, and I could never guess. I felt like I was being difficult or obstinate, but I really could not put a name to these things. I told her it felt like a neurological blindspot; your eyes look at something straight on but because of your optic nerve, you don’t actually see what you’re looking at, even though you know something is there. When I am asked questions about what I’m feeling, I know there is a feeling there but I literally can have no idea what it is or what it’s called. And now I have a name for it.
The analytic relationship has still been challenging. I find sitting across the room from my analyst to either be under or overstimulating. I often feel dead and like I’m meeting someone for an interview.
I mentioned this to my analyst about three weeks ago, and I gradually came to realize that I wanted her to sit next to me, which, as I’ve mentioned, she denied. She initially seemed like she would be willing, but then she consulted with her colleagues and changed her mind. She cited the “rules” of analysis; she talked about how it’s better to talk about what I want, etc. Her supervisor gave me articles and books to read. We’ve been sitting on the floor, still apart, in effort to reduce the feeling of formality.
Nothing is working. I can’t feel her. I want to let her in my space, in my world, and it’s not working.
Her supervisor’s reading material was offensive because he seemed to think that it was that I didn’t want to talk. On the contrary, sitting next to my analyst would, in my mind, reduce my anxiety enough so that I could talk. But reading his recommendations wasn’t a total loss. He suggested that I read The Neuroscience of Psychotherapy: Healing the Social Brain by Louis Cozolino. I did read it, and it talked about how mild to moderate stress was important for the possibility of change as allowed by the neuroplasticity of the brain, etc. etc. Nothing new. But Cozolino also mentioned alexithymia, and said that it was an inability to put words to feelings.
I did a ton of research. I read Fonagy and McDougall and Taylor and Orbach. I took an online test. I scored high. I emailed my analyst. It was a Sunday, but she responded with interest.
This past week has been a whirlwind of research and discussion. Alexithymia is a character trait in which people may have anywhere from mild to severe difficulty articulating feelings or having empathy for the feelings of others (I do not think the latter characteristic matches me, thankfully). People may have a distinct lack of dreams or fantasies, or have very logical dreams. This is me. They may have difficulty with social relationships. Also me. I find that I am able to maintain maybe about three relationships at any one time; additional relationships overwhelm or exhaust me and I regrettably break them off or significantly draw back.
Alexithymia is not an actual diagnosis and so it is only a trait. My “diagnosis” (though I do not believe in diagnoses) is borderline, with this alexithymia thing now tagged on. Interestingly, both BPD and alexithymia are marked by a lack of ability to mentalize. Mentalization can be improved with oxytocin. And what produces oxytocin? Physical contact. Like sitting next to your analyst.
I’ve proposed this again to my analyst, now with about ten research papers, ranging from evidence-based treatments to psychoanalytic vignettes, to back up what I know I need. I emailed lead researchers in the field asking for their assistance. (They have been so nice and helpful!) My analyst said yesterday that she has a “draft in mind” about signing some permission slip thing if she were to sit next to me. I am very hopeful. She has gotten my hopes up twice before and then let them down, but she is also aware that she has done this so I’m hoping she is not repeating her behaviour. If she is, then I’ve found yet another therapist I cannot work with.
But, even if that’s the case, I now have a name for the blindspot. Now I just have to find someone who will help me get rid of it.
Analysis is hard. It is more than hard. It is incredibly difficult and painful, and I’m only three months in.
I have a dead mother.
Not actually dead, mind you. She is alive and well halfway across the country, which honestly isn’t far enough. But she’s dead on the inside. She’s boring and dull and dead and so closed off from her feelings and instincts that she didn’t breastfeed or hold me when I was little. I didn’t think it mattered too much until I found myself begging my analyst to touch me. Her gentle denial stabs me, every time, on some raw, visceral level and the pain is so intense I find it difficult to breathe. It’s horrible. She says it will get better with talking. I have no choice but to try, if only for my daughter.
I try not to blame my mother for her deeply wounding mistakes, as I can see how her own mother was cold and aloof, and her mother before her. But it makes me angry. I’m choosing to get help so my daughter can have a different experience. I am putting myself through this so my daughter (hopefully) doesn’t have to. Why didn’t my mother do that? I didn’t matter enough? I didn’t touch her in a way that made her want to overcome her problems so she could try to mother me properly?
I sometimes feel slightly jealous of my daughter. She will never know denial of the breast or premature separation or refusal to be held. I simply won’t let it happen. She will wean and leave our bed when her brain and body are ready. I want, more than anything, for her to never have to feel this kind of pain. I want her to be able to mother her own child someday without having to go to therapy to figure out how to do it. I just wish my mother had done the same for me.
I want my analyst to sit on the couch with me.
This needs to be explored thoroughly. My previous therapist would sit on the couch with me, at my request. I loved the physical contact. She would hold my hand, we would cuddle… it was very nice. In my mind, it was representative of acceptance – my mother is quite uncomfortable with physical contact and so, as a child, I received less of it than I would have liked. I’m also convinced that my mother finds people repulsive, including her own children, and so to have my therapist sit with me felt like I was not repulsive to her.
But also, having my therapist sit next to me on the couch meant that we weren’t facing each other, and she couldn’t look at me. I think there is something big here. Currently, my analyst and I sit across from each other – I’m sitting on the couch and she’s sitting in her chair (on her “perch”, as she once called it). As much as I am telling myself that I want my analyst to convey to me that I’m not repulsive, I think there might also be something to do with looking at me. To be looked at and acknowledged means one must exist. I think I have difficulty in this area. In the beginning, I did make quite a bit of eye contact with my analyst – a sharp contrast from where I was when I left my previous therapist. But last week, I noticed I was not looking at her at all. I also noticed I was feeling a distinct lack of connection following the sessions, and I hypothesised it had something to do with the lack of eye contact. I had to make a conscious effort to look at her on the last session of the week, and I noticed the difference. Our sessions are naturally increasing in content and intensity, and I’m wondering if it’s difficult for me to have that raw feeling of being seen while exploring topics that are more difficult. And if that’s the case, I may be looking to alleviate that discomfort in two ways by having her sit on the couch. One, it would feel like she is more “with” me if she sat next to me, and two, I wouldn’t have to tolerate the feeling of being looked at. I mostly remember my mom making eye contact with me when I was in trouble, so maybe having eye contact with my analyst also feels like I am in trouble for having thoughts or feelings.
When I first started analysis about three months ago, I told my analyst about how my therapist would sit on the couch with me, and I requested that my analyst not do this. I thought it was because I knew I needed to tolerate the feelings of not having physical contact, and that in order to work through them, I needed to have my analyst sit in the chair. To have her sit on the couch with me would be to skirt around the issue and to gratify my need for the contact. While I still believe that is true, I think there is more to it in the sense that I do not want to be looked at, that acknowledgement of my existence is too overwhelming, and I need to tolerate this, as well.
I thought I might try to take this blog in a new direction. Being a mother is an experience too remarkable to not capture, and the same, I think, with being an analysand. So, here we are.
My ultimate goal, of course, is to raise a happy, healthy, well-adjusted human who is comfortable in and with herself. My daughter, Peanut, is ten months old, with a personality so uninhibited that I don’t know how she fits it into her little body. In order to foster who she naturally is, my husband and I try to create an environment which does not sap her energy and liveliness. We attend to her when she cries, we bed share, I breastfeed, in hopes that she will not have to worry about why her primal needs are not met and instead can grow and develop with confidence. I find myself intensely attuned to her; I suppose my analyst would say that I track her.
Speaking of my analyst – after two and a half years of tempestuous therapy, I left my therapist. Considering my options, I decided to enter psychoanalysis. For one, I enjoy the depth and work required. It challenges my brain in a vigorous and exciting way. Two, I want to be an analyst, and one has to undergo personal analysis before one can sit in the chair. So I thought, why not? And I very carefully selected my therapist – analyst. She’s good. She’s steady and sharp. She will be good for me.
So, that is what I hope to do here – record the intertwining journeys of being a parent, and becoming an analyst. I have a feeling that each will strongly influence the other.