Hypnotherapy: "I am not responsible for my mother's emotions"
Hypnotherapy is like being guided through a story or dream, by the therapist. It may seem a bit silly or childish. But I have found that these dreams/stories have a powerful way of communicating with my inner/subconscious/hidden self. I have found that after these sessions -- and I have had three so far -- my thinking/feeling on certain core issues has radically changed. The following is a point-form summary of my first hypnotherapy session.
*Note to self: all images are just that…images. Who knows if they are true. They seem to be helpful, as I seek to navigate my new normal, and untangle my old mess.*
I was directed to ask my subconscious mind for more precision.
“When was the first time you felt this?”
In the womb.
“Do you have a specific time?”
Seven months.
“What is the memory?”
I can see my mother being yelled at. I can see the tension in her jaw, feel the sense of powerlessness. She is so scared. Who did she marry? She told me later, “Your dad…he doesn’t understand…when he yells, I just freeze. I know that’s just his way, but it affects me so much…” I felt the freezing, I felt the tension. And I felt her cling to me, for warmth and safety. I felt that I must be that for her: warmth and safety.
“Was there another memory?”
I am thinking of a time when I was sick, we were at my Native Grandfather's house, and my parents had put on the film, “The Velveteen Rabbit.” At that time, I saw my teddy bears as alive in a very strong way, and they were my friends/comforters. In the film (which I watched while sick, not distinguishing between reality and fantasy) the velveteen rabbit wanted to become alive. But he was trying to comfort his boy/human companion. He comforted him while the boy had tuberculosis, so that the rabbit became contaminated by bacteria, and needed to be burned in a big fire. I remember the image of the fire: it was all I really remembered from that movie. I told my parents, weeping, that I did not want my precious stuffs to be burned. They assured me that I only had the flu, and they would not burn my stuffies. Why was this memory significant? It keeps coming up.
Perhaps it was significant because it taught me that I needed to comfort those above me. That that was my role: my only job. And I aught to do so, even to the point of sacrificing myself. That was the only way to become whole. To become a “real person.”
“What would you tell your child self?”
I guess I would tell him that his stuffies are not alive, and that he is not surrounded by living things. Also, that he does not need to sacrifice himself for others, especially not for those older than him. It is OK for him to live for himself.
“Let’s visualize the moment in the womb. What would you tell your younger self?”
I can visualize myself in a defensive posture that they taught us as lifeguards. A drowning person will grab anything or anyone, and drag them down with them. So we learn to swim backwards, with our foot outstretched towards the drowning person. Protect yourself, or you both will drown… I can visualize myself in that posture.
I also think of that little baby…and telling him to just rest. And I thought how our Good Father believes in rest. he believes in sabbath rest. Rest is the first day of the week. Evening comes before day-time. Sunday (when Christ rose for us, to save us) comes before the week when we work. And we live about seventy years, and the first ten years, nothing is expected of us. We are to rest, and to play.
I can see God taking that little infant, and placing him in Moses’ basket. That little basket, floating in the reeds.
“What does that communicate to you?”
They can’t touch me now.
“Is there something else about that memory?”
I remember fear. And…maybe the experience of being hit. The shock and impact of it on my face.
“Let’s release that. That was then, this is now…it happened in the past, not now…”
“Is there something that that child needs to hear from you now?”
I think he just needs a hug. He needs to hear love, and that he is being cared for, and he does not need to care for anyone.
“Visualize yourself holding yourself as a child. Tell yourself everything that you need to tell yourself. … Then, allow that child to grow up, and become you. Feel how that is different…”
***
[This part happened earlier in the conversation]
She was guiding me to find a room where I had felt the emotion of being responsible for my mom’s emotions. I thought of my Grandmother’s kitchen, but could not nail down a specific memory. Piece by piece, we tore down the kitchen, changed the walls, flooring, ugly table, and light fixtures. I even opened up the wall and added windows. When I was done, my wife was making wonderful food on the island, and people were invited into the warmth. There was a tall privacy fence in the back: only those that we welcomed were allowed in.
“Is there anything else you would add?”
Well, it bothers me that Grandma is still in the basement. She could come up at any moment and be very displeased with the changes.
“What do you think we need to do about that?”
Well, she is dead. Maybe it is time for her to move out of her house, and for my wife and I to take it over.
I saw myself going down the stairs. My own father — oddly enough — accompanied me. I could hear the shrill and harsh voice of my grandmother, but not distinct words. We lead her down the hallway to the front door. Now there was just a white light. She went into the light.
“Let’s visualize your grandmother on a stage. As her, ‘Are you ready to allow me to stand in my own light, and completely affirm the wonderful person that I am becoming?”
She muttered and protested, but did not answer yes.
“You can forgive her now, then visualize light coming from you, and towards her…”
I could see light of forgiveness coming from myself to her. Making her glow, making her diseased sick little dog also glow. Until they became balls of light that drifted up towards the ceiling, and towards the central ball of light in the universe. Then that ball shrank down, and entered my heart, restoring balance.
We did the same, with my father (who protested that he didn’t understand the question) and my mother (who faked tears, and tried to guilt me for what I did to my dad). Dad became a bright balloon. Mom was a greenish and slimy balloon, that had a hard time flying. It took much more effort to make her rise.
***
“Think of meeting your parents. How does that feel?”
I still feel fear.
“That is normal. Fear is there to protect us. Is there still something in you that does not want to let go of shame?”
I still feel like I easily pick shame up. In conversations, with hints, I can see how my parents would apply pressure, and try to shame me: and I think it would work right now.
“OK, so there is still a part of you that wants to pick up shame. Can you try to visualize that part of you?”
(My right hand was clenched) I can see it like a short fat snake in my right hand. The snake is biting my hand. It hurts, but feels good at the same time.
“What is the snake saying?”
I will make you feel the pain, and I will control you.
“Think of yourself as the snake. Now you are the snake. What is it that you want? What do you need? What will it feel like when you get it?”
I want you to be weak. I need to control you. I will feel euphoric victory when I dominate you.
“Imagine your body melting into a golden liquid, that smells like what that snake needs to drink. What does it smell like?”
It smells like euphoric victory. I imagined one of my children winning at Mario Kart and having an immature, overly-competitive, euphoric moment of triumph.
“Now, feed that snake. Just keep feeding it and feeding it…”
I saw the bright liquid flow down the snake’s throat and it kept gobbling and gobbling and gobbling it up. It began to expand, until it just dissolved into the liquid itself.
“What would you see in the place of the snake?”
I see a golden retriever.
“What does he offer to you? What is his pledge to you? What do you need to do to make him stay?”
He is offering my absolutely unconditional love. And he will be angry on my behalf towards unsafe people. He pledges that he will never bite my children. What I need to do to keep him is just believe in myself.
[note, at this point, I felt very uncomfortable: both with the terminology of “believe in yourself” and in the image of inviting an animal to come to me and “join” with me. I guess the image of demon possession came to mind, even though I felt nothing evil about this image. I began praying for safety, just to cover my bases. At about that time, the Skype session got cut off, and we were done. As I reread this now, the image of the snake and the golden retriever are sticking with me. I notice that I scratch my right hand in exactly the places where the snake of “shame” was biting me. I also notice as I reread this that she asked, “Is there a part of yourself that is holding on to shame.” And so the snake, and then the golden retriever were parts of myself. They were not necessarily outside forces, such as demons or angels or something. But shame (as a deeply embedded part of my subconscious mind) wants to have dominance over the rest of me. It keeps spreading its poison by biting my right hand: my strength and my security. I have been trying to fight it by “squeezing” it: but the more I do, the more it bites me. But by feeding it what it wants, I was able to satisfy it. And that was replaced by what? Unconditional love. Of myself, towards myself.
This love promised to always love myself. Is that right? Should we always love ourselves? If love is a feeling of “I desire the best for you,” then yes. If love is 1 Cor. 13 (patience, kindness, gentleness, self-control, hope, restoration, etc.) then yes. So it is right to have a part of me that is facing me, loving myself. How do I activate this? “Believe in yourself.” is that right?
I do not believe in myself to save myself: I need God for that. BUT I do believe in myself in the sense that I believe that I am a good, competent, worth-while person. I trust myself and believe that I am basically good. I am not a waste of space on this earth: I am the opposite of a “waste of space.” I am worth something. It is good that I am here.
It is interesting that his pledge to me was, “I will not bite my children.” Is that only because a good house-dog does not bite children? No, it was a genuine promise: it belonged with that part of the image.
Shame wishes to control me, and it would bleed over, and bite my children. This is how shame works. This is what I saw myself putting to death in my previous dream/counselling with my mom.
But loving self does not “bite.” Rather, if I am loving myself, then I will be satisfied. I will not be demanding of my children that they come to me and fill my void, make me feel complete. Rather, from a place of completeness, I can help them to love themselves, and to feel more complete in themselves.]
I must say, I found it disconcerting at times to do counselling from a non-Cristian perspective. Although I understand that these images are just that — images -- I found the process (which was very similar) of EMDR with a christian practitioner to be far easier to follow.
However, I do think that we made some good progress today.
*Note to self: all images are just that…images. Who knows if they are true. They seem to be helpful, as I seek to navigate my new normal, and untangle my old mess.*
Key thought which I am trying to reprogram: “I am responsible for my mother’s emotions.”
When asked when I began to feel this, a wise man told me that the memories were too old: I would not be able to remember them. I began to think of times as a teen, when my mom was crying (because my grandmother was mean to her) and I comforted her. But I wanted to go deeper.I was directed to ask my subconscious mind for more precision.
“When was the first time you felt this?”
In the womb.
“Do you have a specific time?”
Seven months.
“What is the memory?”
I can see my mother being yelled at. I can see the tension in her jaw, feel the sense of powerlessness. She is so scared. Who did she marry? She told me later, “Your dad…he doesn’t understand…when he yells, I just freeze. I know that’s just his way, but it affects me so much…” I felt the freezing, I felt the tension. And I felt her cling to me, for warmth and safety. I felt that I must be that for her: warmth and safety.
“Was there another memory?”
I am thinking of a time when I was sick, we were at my Native Grandfather's house, and my parents had put on the film, “The Velveteen Rabbit.” At that time, I saw my teddy bears as alive in a very strong way, and they were my friends/comforters. In the film (which I watched while sick, not distinguishing between reality and fantasy) the velveteen rabbit wanted to become alive. But he was trying to comfort his boy/human companion. He comforted him while the boy had tuberculosis, so that the rabbit became contaminated by bacteria, and needed to be burned in a big fire. I remember the image of the fire: it was all I really remembered from that movie. I told my parents, weeping, that I did not want my precious stuffs to be burned. They assured me that I only had the flu, and they would not burn my stuffies. Why was this memory significant? It keeps coming up.
Perhaps it was significant because it taught me that I needed to comfort those above me. That that was my role: my only job. And I aught to do so, even to the point of sacrificing myself. That was the only way to become whole. To become a “real person.”
“What would you tell your child self?”
I guess I would tell him that his stuffies are not alive, and that he is not surrounded by living things. Also, that he does not need to sacrifice himself for others, especially not for those older than him. It is OK for him to live for himself.
“Let’s visualize the moment in the womb. What would you tell your younger self?”
I can visualize myself in a defensive posture that they taught us as lifeguards. A drowning person will grab anything or anyone, and drag them down with them. So we learn to swim backwards, with our foot outstretched towards the drowning person. Protect yourself, or you both will drown… I can visualize myself in that posture.
I also think of that little baby…and telling him to just rest. And I thought how our Good Father believes in rest. he believes in sabbath rest. Rest is the first day of the week. Evening comes before day-time. Sunday (when Christ rose for us, to save us) comes before the week when we work. And we live about seventy years, and the first ten years, nothing is expected of us. We are to rest, and to play.
I can see God taking that little infant, and placing him in Moses’ basket. That little basket, floating in the reeds.
“What does that communicate to you?”
They can’t touch me now.
“Is there something else about that memory?”
I remember fear. And…maybe the experience of being hit. The shock and impact of it on my face.
“Let’s release that. That was then, this is now…it happened in the past, not now…”
“Is there something that that child needs to hear from you now?”
I think he just needs a hug. He needs to hear love, and that he is being cared for, and he does not need to care for anyone.
“Visualize yourself holding yourself as a child. Tell yourself everything that you need to tell yourself. … Then, allow that child to grow up, and become you. Feel how that is different…”
***
[This part happened earlier in the conversation]
She was guiding me to find a room where I had felt the emotion of being responsible for my mom’s emotions. I thought of my Grandmother’s kitchen, but could not nail down a specific memory. Piece by piece, we tore down the kitchen, changed the walls, flooring, ugly table, and light fixtures. I even opened up the wall and added windows. When I was done, my wife was making wonderful food on the island, and people were invited into the warmth. There was a tall privacy fence in the back: only those that we welcomed were allowed in.
“Is there anything else you would add?”
Well, it bothers me that Grandma is still in the basement. She could come up at any moment and be very displeased with the changes.
“What do you think we need to do about that?”
Well, she is dead. Maybe it is time for her to move out of her house, and for my wife and I to take it over.
I saw myself going down the stairs. My own father — oddly enough — accompanied me. I could hear the shrill and harsh voice of my grandmother, but not distinct words. We lead her down the hallway to the front door. Now there was just a white light. She went into the light.
“Let’s visualize your grandmother on a stage. As her, ‘Are you ready to allow me to stand in my own light, and completely affirm the wonderful person that I am becoming?”
She muttered and protested, but did not answer yes.
“You can forgive her now, then visualize light coming from you, and towards her…”
I could see light of forgiveness coming from myself to her. Making her glow, making her diseased sick little dog also glow. Until they became balls of light that drifted up towards the ceiling, and towards the central ball of light in the universe. Then that ball shrank down, and entered my heart, restoring balance.
We did the same, with my father (who protested that he didn’t understand the question) and my mother (who faked tears, and tried to guilt me for what I did to my dad). Dad became a bright balloon. Mom was a greenish and slimy balloon, that had a hard time flying. It took much more effort to make her rise.
***
“Think of meeting your parents. How does that feel?”
I still feel fear.
“That is normal. Fear is there to protect us. Is there still something in you that does not want to let go of shame?”
I still feel like I easily pick shame up. In conversations, with hints, I can see how my parents would apply pressure, and try to shame me: and I think it would work right now.
“OK, so there is still a part of you that wants to pick up shame. Can you try to visualize that part of you?”
(My right hand was clenched) I can see it like a short fat snake in my right hand. The snake is biting my hand. It hurts, but feels good at the same time.
“What is the snake saying?”
I will make you feel the pain, and I will control you.
“Think of yourself as the snake. Now you are the snake. What is it that you want? What do you need? What will it feel like when you get it?”
I want you to be weak. I need to control you. I will feel euphoric victory when I dominate you.
“Imagine your body melting into a golden liquid, that smells like what that snake needs to drink. What does it smell like?”
It smells like euphoric victory. I imagined one of my children winning at Mario Kart and having an immature, overly-competitive, euphoric moment of triumph.
“Now, feed that snake. Just keep feeding it and feeding it…”
I saw the bright liquid flow down the snake’s throat and it kept gobbling and gobbling and gobbling it up. It began to expand, until it just dissolved into the liquid itself.
“What would you see in the place of the snake?”
I see a golden retriever.
“What does he offer to you? What is his pledge to you? What do you need to do to make him stay?”
He is offering my absolutely unconditional love. And he will be angry on my behalf towards unsafe people. He pledges that he will never bite my children. What I need to do to keep him is just believe in myself.
[note, at this point, I felt very uncomfortable: both with the terminology of “believe in yourself” and in the image of inviting an animal to come to me and “join” with me. I guess the image of demon possession came to mind, even though I felt nothing evil about this image. I began praying for safety, just to cover my bases. At about that time, the Skype session got cut off, and we were done. As I reread this now, the image of the snake and the golden retriever are sticking with me. I notice that I scratch my right hand in exactly the places where the snake of “shame” was biting me. I also notice as I reread this that she asked, “Is there a part of yourself that is holding on to shame.” And so the snake, and then the golden retriever were parts of myself. They were not necessarily outside forces, such as demons or angels or something. But shame (as a deeply embedded part of my subconscious mind) wants to have dominance over the rest of me. It keeps spreading its poison by biting my right hand: my strength and my security. I have been trying to fight it by “squeezing” it: but the more I do, the more it bites me. But by feeding it what it wants, I was able to satisfy it. And that was replaced by what? Unconditional love. Of myself, towards myself.
This love promised to always love myself. Is that right? Should we always love ourselves? If love is a feeling of “I desire the best for you,” then yes. If love is 1 Cor. 13 (patience, kindness, gentleness, self-control, hope, restoration, etc.) then yes. So it is right to have a part of me that is facing me, loving myself. How do I activate this? “Believe in yourself.” is that right?
I do not believe in myself to save myself: I need God for that. BUT I do believe in myself in the sense that I believe that I am a good, competent, worth-while person. I trust myself and believe that I am basically good. I am not a waste of space on this earth: I am the opposite of a “waste of space.” I am worth something. It is good that I am here.
It is interesting that his pledge to me was, “I will not bite my children.” Is that only because a good house-dog does not bite children? No, it was a genuine promise: it belonged with that part of the image.
Shame wishes to control me, and it would bleed over, and bite my children. This is how shame works. This is what I saw myself putting to death in my previous dream/counselling with my mom.
But loving self does not “bite.” Rather, if I am loving myself, then I will be satisfied. I will not be demanding of my children that they come to me and fill my void, make me feel complete. Rather, from a place of completeness, I can help them to love themselves, and to feel more complete in themselves.]
I must say, I found it disconcerting at times to do counselling from a non-Cristian perspective. Although I understand that these images are just that — images -- I found the process (which was very similar) of EMDR with a christian practitioner to be far easier to follow.
However, I do think that we made some good progress today.
For more on shame, see the post, It. Was. Not. Me. (vomiting the shame from my mother) (Nov. 18), and other posts on shame, emotional neglect, strings attached, emotional incest, and mother.
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Chantelle Neufeld is a registered hypnotherapist. Her services are reasonably priced and available online. To book an appointment, click here. |
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