Slowly but surely, she has been working on stuff.*
Tuesday she asked me to block her biological siblings' numbers from her cell phone. This is a huge step. They are a mess and they distract her with their drama and poor choices. I am proud that she is making this decision for herself.
We've been talking in therapy about how she just wants to be normal. I believe her* when she says this was the motivation for stealing the computer - she goes to a private school where every kid has at least a laptop, and usually an iPad and iPhone too. She said that for the month she had that laptop she felt like everyone else, just in that one little slice of her life. No made up reasons why she didn't have one. No asking to borrow. No sitting in the computer lab when everyone else was outside. And I get that. It's hard being so incredibly different all the time. It was hard for me and I was only half as different as she is.
As a nod to this concept I approve a trip to the midnight show of Hunger Games on Thursday, opening night. Because I can't get her a computer, or trust her to drive, or give her all the freedoms that kids her age have and that would actually make her feel normal all the time. Normal for a few days seems like an appropriate compromise.
On cue, I get the email from the Spanish teacher on Thursday that she is failing. Failing Spanish! Even though she loves the class and is constantly talking to her grandmother about Spanish. This is not about the coursework. This is about her "stuff." So I make certain conditions, and she meets them (demonstrated by external evidence), and she goes to the movie.
Saturday, she has a complete meltdown. She has lost a computer file (demonstrated by external evidence) related to her major writing project, due in 10 days. She thinks she can find the strength to finish this year, but she is terrified of her next and senior year of high school. Let alone graduation. Let alone independent living. Let alone college. She wants to give up. I believe her,* and it's scary to see her at such depths of sorrow. Yet, I am encouraged.* She is talking about some serious, real feelings* and in close to real time.* And when I talk to her about what I think is happening with her brain chemistry and what she can do about it, and what is happening emotionally and what she can do about that, she does both.
In short, we seem to be in a very real place* without those scary highs, and with some real* lows. I am growing in my ability to understand her, and she is learning to trust that acceptance and becoming more honest and open.* This has been the goal in therapy. This is what was supposed to happen.
So why was I crying on the way to work today?
I think it must be the crushing weight of the Asterisk.
The Asterisk is that little disclaimer. That part of my brain that is completely aware that I could be getting played. And it is so, so, so, so hard. Because you want the best for them. You want these certain responses and outcomes. Then when you get those same responses and outcomes, you have to figure out whether they are real or part of some conscious or unconscious manipulation. Whether your heart will get broken again. Whether you are letting down your defenses just enough for the sword to get through. Is she just saying what she knows I want to hear so I am less vigilant? So she can achieve small victories like the movie? So she can keep doing some crazy crap that I won't even know about for another week or two?
I read that worrying is like praying for something you don't want to happen. And I agree. I try not to worry. But the Asterisk is not really worrying. It is realism. It's a reminder. It's like carrying around a parachute because you know that at any minute you could realize that you walked off a cliff. The parachute won't stop the fall. Depending on the timing, it may not even cushion the landing. But it's the least you can do, since you've decided to keep walking.
I know the Asterisk has saved my life. I just hope it isn't killing me too.
Monday, March 26, 2012
Monday, March 19, 2012
On Acceptance and Change (and Optimism)
One of the gifted therapists in my life reminded me last week that the central question is, "Acceptance or change?" This doesn't mean we only do one - often acceptance of reality must precede the ability to change. But we were talking about a different situation (my job) and the point was I'm not a hand wringer. In that situation, I need either to accept the bad with the good or give up the good to get away from the bad.
This past week has been a challenge to my general optimism. And I've been thinking: is optimism based on the concept of change or acceptance? My brand of optimism consists of thinking through the alternatives, focusing on and directing energy toward the best, and acknowledging and being prepared for the worst. Golly that sounds exhausting when I say it aloud. No wonder I'm so tired.
This past week has been a challenge to my general optimism. And I've been thinking: is optimism based on the concept of change or acceptance? My brand of optimism consists of thinking through the alternatives, focusing on and directing energy toward the best, and acknowledging and being prepared for the worst. Golly that sounds exhausting when I say it aloud. No wonder I'm so tired.
Tuesday, March 13, 2012
In Search of a Therapist: Part Two
The second part is always the darkest of the trilogy. The Empire Strikes Back. If you read ISO A Therapist Part One, you know that we've had our ups and downs with mental health professionals. I have struggled with whether to share this part because I have one inner voice telling me not to be too negative. But I have another, bossier inner voice telling me that people who have encountered other crazy therapists need to know that they are not alone. So here goes.
After B, we were thoroughly disillusioned with therapists. B was supposed to be a trauma specialist and was part of the top-referred trauma therapy program in the area - and she was a huge flop. So we pulled out our Daniel Hughes books, and websites, and every other resource we had and said, we are going to make home the focus of therapy. And then something magic happened: she asked to see a therapist.
At first it seemed like a manipulation, or a ploy, or a set up. She very much wanted to see a woman of color therapist, and we knew we needed a therapist with a strong attachment and trauma background. Not a large population meets those criteria in New Mexico. But then the second magic thing happened: we found a woman of color who had just started a group practice focused on attachment work!
We will call her L. (It is occurring to me just now how good I am at forgetting names.) She did an initial intake at our home and said all the right things. All sessions would be at our home too, as that was her philosophy. We talked attachment theory. We talked pitfalls. We talked lessons learned. She seemed to hear us and have a wealth of experience. Just the interactions in the intake were more real and deep and genuine than any interaction I had seen between my daughter and a therapist... ever. Then at the end of the session, she informed us that she was finishing her dissertation and didn't have time to work with us. What now? Come again? But she had a colleague who was just as amazing who would work with us, and we would meet her at our next/first session.
Alarms should have gone off at that moment. Why would she come to our home and meet with our child if she planned to disappear so soon? Who were we getting passed off to? Why wasn't the new person at the intake meeting? What was their history together that she could so confidently palm us off on her, and her on us?
We should have run, but we didn't. We were optimistic. We wanted it to work so badly that we didn't believe our own lying eyes.
So the new therapist, S, shows up. S is not a woman of color, but she is a woman. And like I said, my daughter is at a moment when she is wanting to do the work. So we proceed. The format is family session, brief alone time, family session. Now I know that some attachment experts and parents say never to allow therapy sessions with the child alone. And I totally get that even though I don't agree - especially as the child reaches adulthood. But I digress.
Second session in, daughter makes a choice to begin talking about her (pre-us) history of sexual abuse. She uses her time with S to strategize about how they are going to open the conversation, and then we come back together and daughter tells us this is what she wants to tackle. We say WOW. This is big. This is hard. I'm not sure that I would have started there, but if that's the call you want to make, we can do it. S says, ooh, time is up. But since we have opened up such a big topic let's get another session on the calendar right away.
That third session comes and we wait. Five minutes pass, 10, 15. We get worried, we are calling, texting, emailing. We hear nothing. No session. No call the next day. The day after that we get a voicemail from S. Apparently the day of our scheduled session was S's birthday, and she hadn't realized that when she scheduled the session, and then the day came and she just didn't feel like working. So she didn't even bother to call? What now? Come again?
We thought to just call it quits right there. But S basically pleaded with us to at least give her a chance to apologize in person. We called L to ask what the hell kind of operation she was running - but no return call. S comes over to our house and apologizes profusely. She knows she damaged the relationship. She knows she made herself the focus of therapy instead of our family and that was a huge mistake. But all that said, they did have a connection and had embarked on some difficult stuff, and it felt worth salvaging. Oh, and could we start coming to her office space because we live so far away.
After much contemplation and another round of calling everyone we know (and a large number of people we don't know) trying to find someone else, we decide to continue with S. We have session #4 at her office, and it goes ok. The next week we go to appointment #5. More progress. We may even be hitting our stride. At the end of the session, she walks us out of the office as usual. When we get out into the street she says, "Listen, our office is closing and our practice is disbanding. So I can't see you any more. If we decide to start practicing again, I'll let you know."
<bleep>
I still think about this episode when I drive past that street. And I have a few observations:
1. S was clearly completely crazy. She did not honor any level of professionalism that one would expect, even for a novice. She was a straight up train wreck.
2. We were clearly in complete denial because we were so desperate for help.
3. Our denial made it impossible for us to see how crazy she was, but I'm guessing even most of you readers were surprised when you got to the end of that last paragraph.
In a way the whole thing was so insane that even our daughter was like, what the heck just happened? In some ways S did less damage than arrogant K or idiot B because we were all three on the same side - she hadn't split us and in fact had given us a common bond of shock and anger toward her. But for heaven's sake. Why even be a therapist?
I promise that our story (or at least the ISO a Therapist part of our story) has a happy ending. But for now I'll just say that I recall S with great enmity, and while I try to have love in my heart for all people, for her... not so much.
After B, we were thoroughly disillusioned with therapists. B was supposed to be a trauma specialist and was part of the top-referred trauma therapy program in the area - and she was a huge flop. So we pulled out our Daniel Hughes books, and websites, and every other resource we had and said, we are going to make home the focus of therapy. And then something magic happened: she asked to see a therapist.
At first it seemed like a manipulation, or a ploy, or a set up. She very much wanted to see a woman of color therapist, and we knew we needed a therapist with a strong attachment and trauma background. Not a large population meets those criteria in New Mexico. But then the second magic thing happened: we found a woman of color who had just started a group practice focused on attachment work!
We will call her L. (It is occurring to me just now how good I am at forgetting names.) She did an initial intake at our home and said all the right things. All sessions would be at our home too, as that was her philosophy. We talked attachment theory. We talked pitfalls. We talked lessons learned. She seemed to hear us and have a wealth of experience. Just the interactions in the intake were more real and deep and genuine than any interaction I had seen between my daughter and a therapist... ever. Then at the end of the session, she informed us that she was finishing her dissertation and didn't have time to work with us. What now? Come again? But she had a colleague who was just as amazing who would work with us, and we would meet her at our next/first session.
Alarms should have gone off at that moment. Why would she come to our home and meet with our child if she planned to disappear so soon? Who were we getting passed off to? Why wasn't the new person at the intake meeting? What was their history together that she could so confidently palm us off on her, and her on us?
We should have run, but we didn't. We were optimistic. We wanted it to work so badly that we didn't believe our own lying eyes.
So the new therapist, S, shows up. S is not a woman of color, but she is a woman. And like I said, my daughter is at a moment when she is wanting to do the work. So we proceed. The format is family session, brief alone time, family session. Now I know that some attachment experts and parents say never to allow therapy sessions with the child alone. And I totally get that even though I don't agree - especially as the child reaches adulthood. But I digress.
Second session in, daughter makes a choice to begin talking about her (pre-us) history of sexual abuse. She uses her time with S to strategize about how they are going to open the conversation, and then we come back together and daughter tells us this is what she wants to tackle. We say WOW. This is big. This is hard. I'm not sure that I would have started there, but if that's the call you want to make, we can do it. S says, ooh, time is up. But since we have opened up such a big topic let's get another session on the calendar right away.
That third session comes and we wait. Five minutes pass, 10, 15. We get worried, we are calling, texting, emailing. We hear nothing. No session. No call the next day. The day after that we get a voicemail from S. Apparently the day of our scheduled session was S's birthday, and she hadn't realized that when she scheduled the session, and then the day came and she just didn't feel like working. So she didn't even bother to call? What now? Come again?
We thought to just call it quits right there. But S basically pleaded with us to at least give her a chance to apologize in person. We called L to ask what the hell kind of operation she was running - but no return call. S comes over to our house and apologizes profusely. She knows she damaged the relationship. She knows she made herself the focus of therapy instead of our family and that was a huge mistake. But all that said, they did have a connection and had embarked on some difficult stuff, and it felt worth salvaging. Oh, and could we start coming to her office space because we live so far away.
After much contemplation and another round of calling everyone we know (and a large number of people we don't know) trying to find someone else, we decide to continue with S. We have session #4 at her office, and it goes ok. The next week we go to appointment #5. More progress. We may even be hitting our stride. At the end of the session, she walks us out of the office as usual. When we get out into the street she says, "Listen, our office is closing and our practice is disbanding. So I can't see you any more. If we decide to start practicing again, I'll let you know."
<bleep>
I still think about this episode when I drive past that street. And I have a few observations:
1. S was clearly completely crazy. She did not honor any level of professionalism that one would expect, even for a novice. She was a straight up train wreck.
2. We were clearly in complete denial because we were so desperate for help.
3. Our denial made it impossible for us to see how crazy she was, but I'm guessing even most of you readers were surprised when you got to the end of that last paragraph.
In a way the whole thing was so insane that even our daughter was like, what the heck just happened? In some ways S did less damage than arrogant K or idiot B because we were all three on the same side - she hadn't split us and in fact had given us a common bond of shock and anger toward her. But for heaven's sake. Why even be a therapist?
I promise that our story (or at least the ISO a Therapist part of our story) has a happy ending. But for now I'll just say that I recall S with great enmity, and while I try to have love in my heart for all people, for her... not so much.
Saturday, March 10, 2012
Chutes and Ladders
At a meeting yesterday, I told the counselor and the disciplinary vice-principal of my daughter's school that she is not going to have a straight-line kind of life. "And that's okay," I added. I had said that before but this time was different, because I meant it.
When I say "straight-line," I mean this: high school, college, work, maybe advanced degree, work some more. Date, marry, have kids. Entry level, mid-level, boss. These are the ladders that society sets up for us.
Like a good Asian-American kid, I have spent a lot of time making sure I'm doing all of this right. I'm 37, and I'm near or at the top of the ladder I chose to climb. I am married, and have the only child I will ever have. I live in the only house I have ever owned, and I love it. I am a partner in my firm, which is the only firm where I have ever worked. I have the terminal degree in my field - apart from a very expensive and esoteric designation that I would probably not pursue.
So when I say that my baby is not going to have a straight-line life, what I'm really saying is, she's not going to do it the way I did it. The way you're supposed to do it.
Until recently, I lived life by the Chutes and Ladders principle. If you're doing what you're supposed to be doing, you're moving toward the top. If you're not, well, then you slide down a few rungs, wait your turn, and start climbing again. But lately I've been thinking it's time to put this model away with my other children's games.
When I say "straight-line," I mean this: high school, college, work, maybe advanced degree, work some more. Date, marry, have kids. Entry level, mid-level, boss. These are the ladders that society sets up for us.
Like a good Asian-American kid, I have spent a lot of time making sure I'm doing all of this right. I'm 37, and I'm near or at the top of the ladder I chose to climb. I am married, and have the only child I will ever have. I live in the only house I have ever owned, and I love it. I am a partner in my firm, which is the only firm where I have ever worked. I have the terminal degree in my field - apart from a very expensive and esoteric designation that I would probably not pursue.
So when I say that my baby is not going to have a straight-line life, what I'm really saying is, she's not going to do it the way I did it. The way you're supposed to do it.
Until recently, I lived life by the Chutes and Ladders principle. If you're doing what you're supposed to be doing, you're moving toward the top. If you're not, well, then you slide down a few rungs, wait your turn, and start climbing again. But lately I've been thinking it's time to put this model away with my other children's games.
Thursday, March 8, 2012
In Search of a Therapist - Part One of More than One
His name was D. He was her first therapist. She was 5 and new to our home. They did mostly play therapy. They played a game called "Stop, Relax and Think." In this game, you practice visualizing safe and happy places and memories, and you occasionally land on a scenario that gives you practice evoking that safety in the context of a more stressful hypothetical.
I love D. Still to this day, the things he said about her and what our life would be like were among the most accurate I have ever heard. He said lying would be a struggle throughout life. He said stealing would persist at least through the teen years. He said we might not... but then again we might. These seemed like bleak prognoses at the time. They were accurate. He was brave to tell us, and he did it gently, with love.
But D's focus was father-son work so eventually he kicked us out of the nest. We then moved on to K.
I love D. Still to this day, the things he said about her and what our life would be like were among the most accurate I have ever heard. He said lying would be a struggle throughout life. He said stealing would persist at least through the teen years. He said we might not... but then again we might. These seemed like bleak prognoses at the time. They were accurate. He was brave to tell us, and he did it gently, with love.
But D's focus was father-son work so eventually he kicked us out of the nest. We then moved on to K.
Friday, March 2, 2012
Silent Treatment
The first thing I noticed was the throbbing. This whah-whah-whah sound, kind of like the inside of an MRI, but faster. And above it, a high-pitched not-quite-ringing, more like a frequency that I can hear, way up high, above the throbbing. Worst when I wake up in the middle of the night or in the morning. I am ignoring it, and then I realize that I am ignoring it - like the ignoring was instinctive rather than conscious. Is it high blood pressure? An inner ear issue?
It gets worse with each passing day. Till I am having trouble hearing over it. Having trouble concentrating and thinking, which is a problem because I think about complicated stuff for a living. A friend at work tells me he thinks I need a few days off. The dark circles under my eyes are genuinely frightening to others.
Finally I google "head throbbing" and the google overlords offer me "head throbbing without pain." Yes - that is exactly what is happening. And bam, I learn a new phrase: silent migraine.
Thursday, March 1, 2012
The rebound
She does spot-on imitations. She has a beautiful smile. And she can make you laugh. Oh, she can have you in stitches. And it's genuine humor. Not mean. Not cold. That intelligent, hilarious perspective that comes from really seeing things in the world and understanding humanity. So when we are ignoring it - whatever "it" is at that particular moment - we laugh.
I call it our rebound stage. It's after the storm, but of course that silent storm is still brewing. And we need to regulate again. We need to get her brain as close to fully functional as possible so she can begin to process the latest trauma she has created. Out of dissociation, through aggression, through avoidance, all the way to... well, to "all the way there."
When a danger passes or a perceived threat ends, the brain flips it into reverse and releases biochemicals to bring itself back into balance. The brain is trying to achieve "homeostasis," a state of metabolic equilibrium between the stimulating and the tranquilizing chemical forces in the body. That allows a person to begin the important work of thinking rationally.
And despite my questions about her, I know I can think rationally. So I need this time to be relatively carefree and painless. I can't play warden right now. I can't be distant, I can't even really be firm. This time feels different because I am doing this for me, for my brain, for my biochemicals, for my sanity.
And I'm pretty sure I'm worth it.
I call it our rebound stage. It's after the storm, but of course that silent storm is still brewing. And we need to regulate again. We need to get her brain as close to fully functional as possible so she can begin to process the latest trauma she has created. Out of dissociation, through aggression, through avoidance, all the way to... well, to "all the way there."
When a danger passes or a perceived threat ends, the brain flips it into reverse and releases biochemicals to bring itself back into balance. The brain is trying to achieve "homeostasis," a state of metabolic equilibrium between the stimulating and the tranquilizing chemical forces in the body. That allows a person to begin the important work of thinking rationally.
And despite my questions about her, I know I can think rationally. So I need this time to be relatively carefree and painless. I can't play warden right now. I can't be distant, I can't even really be firm. This time feels different because I am doing this for me, for my brain, for my biochemicals, for my sanity.
And I'm pretty sure I'm worth it.
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