Anxiety

I am most grateful to have a place by the sea where I can go, sometimes alone, as I am now. I acknowledge that I can become anxious and the opportunity to be alone, and to garden at will, is both comforting and healing for me.

It's well known now that anxious types tend to have had a rather chaotic childhood, and then repeat that sort of situation in the partner they choose. That's certainly what happened to me. So, with plenty of drama and emotional expression swirling around me, my anxiety will rise. 

There comes a point when I know that, rather than just a yoga class or two, I need silence. I need to be completely alone. 

Everything becomes very simple. I buy the simplest of ingredients - fish for my dinners, salad, a potato or two; granola, yoghurt and dates for breakfast, and maybe something like a can of sardines on toast for lunch; a couple of apples.

I don't listen or watch media, although I did bring my lap top, and I felt moved this morning to try to figure out my state by writing something about my inner world.

Which leads me to say that anxiety is a somatic experience, primarily, and so one does need to relate to the body as soon as possible. For me, it's a fluttering feeling, between the neck and the heart; like butterflies all aflutter; restless.

Dr Russ (the Anxiety Doctor) encourages the anxious person, himself included, to look around for signs of safety. Here, they are abundant. The trees, the wind, the view of the sea which I created with much hard work and ingenuity, the birds, the plants in flower, all remind me I am quite safe.

That leads me to say that recently I have felt unsafe; possibly quite erroneously, but not entirely. It can be hard to get across to my husband some ideas that most people take for granted. I don't know why this is so, but perhaps it is his age; the era in which he grew up. I tried to explain that, given his cancer diagnosis, it seemed especially important that I know what to do in his absence. Where were the documents of our lives? What did we have, what did we owe? 

Being the very strong man that he is, I think he has it in mind to be here for a long time, so it doesn't seem something that needs to be on the top of his list. But I hear my friends say that they accompany their husbands to the accountant, and I think to myself, do we even have an accountant?

Whilst my husband can manage risk and is actually as comfortable with high risk as anyone out there, I am, and was brought up to be, a 'term deposit' girl, as was my brother. So, the investments that make up our eventual inheritance are as safe as investments can be. This makes us feel safe.

I think what I am trying to say is that everyone has a different level of sense of safety, in built. I happened to marry a man who can ride the financial roller coaster without a sense of alarm, whereas for me, it makes me pretty queasy.

I do wonder, something not talked about a lot when it comes to anxiety, if we anxious types look for a sense of control; feel centered when there is a sense of control about things. I have noticed myself being triggered by a friend whose husband is all about a sense of safety, which has enabled them in these later years to have more fun. The finances are not extensive, but they are sorted.

There's some sort of lesson here for me - some sort of letting go into the unknown. At the same time, it's the sense of personal agency in the past year or so that feels so good; an individual sense of agency where I can make some decisions for myself that feels so good to me.

I completely agree with the belief that before there can be a power dynamic there must be agreement, and it has to be said that my husband and I don't, and have never, come into agreement about how much risk one should take. Some marriage experts believe that there are areas of life in which a couple will never come into agreement. Maybe that's the lesson: to accept that, on this issue, we will continue to hold our own opinions, and we each need to respect the other's point of view.

OCPD

 For years I have skirted around the issues of my life on this blog, trying to be discreet at the same time as I express myself as best as I can. However, it's been going on for so long and secrecy and discretion have achieved nothing. With nothing left to lose, I am just going to come out and say it.

My husband has some sort of anxiety disorder which affects many aspects of our lives but most importantly it is his anxiety about his health, and his deep distrust of the medical profession that puts me in a position where I sometimes feel I am going mad.

Whilst I was away last week interstate he experienced sensation such that my son took him to a public hospital in the middle of the night. They were efficient to the best of their ability and gave a diagnosis consistent with their findings, but my husband didn't agree with the diagnosis, highly suspicious of the woman in whose specialty it was.

All week he raged about the woman, fixating on the details of the middle of the night dash, not once entertaining the thought she might be right. Having gone past the point of simply agreeing with him, I suggested that maybe she knew a thing or two about her specialty and that it was worth the possibility of opening his mind. He remained unconvinced and undeterred.

This led us to the private hospital emergency this afternoon where it was quickly determined that, no, there was no heart arrhythmia.  However, they were happy, as you would expect, to run all requisite tests and confer with various specialists until he was satisfied and that's what they will spend tomorrow doing.

I want to be clear that if I can, I stay away from doctors and hospitals. My goal is to be well enough to achieve that end, doing sensible preventative tests, of course, but basically using the insurance policy of a balanced life to visit medical establishments as infrequently as possible.

However, when you need them, all their training comes in mighty handy, not to mention some drugs newly invented change and save lives.

My husband has a combination of fear of dying, of being very sick and needing doctors and a belief in his own ability to research conditions such that he can come up with the correct diagnosis and treatment himself.

Anyone who trashes his body as he does with lack of sleep, forcing himself to stay up late, along with a great deal of anxiety and stress hormones running through his body in an almost non-stop way, is going to experience illness, and he has been unwell with one thing or another for some time; bits and pieces.

The key thing here - and was so with Deity also -is that you can't help someone who won't be helped. If you insist a la Sinatra in going your own way, no-one can stop you. Certainly, I don't make a dent in my husband's thinking. 

If you could have a reasonable and fair conversation, things could be worked out together. There are solutions. But that's not something my husband is prepared to do because his black and white thinking means that I can't possibly be right, or a doctor can't possibly be right, when he is right. Do you see the issue?

I have threatened to leave him. I have tried living part of the time away from our city house in which he is bunkered. I have said he must get psychological help. Nothing moves him; certainly not my upset.

In many ways this is why I was able to tolerate Deity's stubborn nature; because I know stubborn natures up close and personal. I occasionally make the mistake of thinking I can save such people which I definitely cannot.

I am not trying to 'save' my husband in fact since I have no influence. I am trying to make sure that my husband doesn't send me to the funny farm, and all the kids along with me.

OCPDers think they are right and are to this end unaffected. It's the families that are traumatized and who is there to support them?

Anxiety and self care

 We were traveling together, my brother and I, on our way to transact some family business when he chose to share with me that he had begun medication for his anxiety. We had never referred to him as being an anxious person and whilst I could see that he was sometimes uptight and stewing over something or other, it hadn't occurred to me that he would feel the need to medicate his angst.

It turns out that his mind was always racing; always troubled by perhaps a small thing such as misplacing something, to the big things like the state of the world, and all things in between. As soon as he described this inner world to a doctor he had scripts in his hand; one to dull down the activity of his mind and the other to get him to have some uninterrupted sleep.

Apparently, the medication has helped him beyond measure. I am seeing the benefits of medication for anxiety, though I have never taken medication for anxiety myself and nor has anybody suggested that I do.

I wouldn't say that my mind stream is always comfortable, not at all. What I have learned to do is not to let it carry me away, with the odd exceptional experience. The thoughts are there but I approach them with curiosity and sort of listen in to the voice in the head. 

Sometimes I consciously choose to alter the thoughts. If it feels like that voice is getting too worked up or going down a path that does not look like the right one for me (much as you might be walking in nature and find yourself having to decide which path to choose), I adjust the thoughts. 

I might choose to simply let go of the thoughts, to adjust them in another direction. Or, I might interrogate them. A question like, 'Is this true?' can help. I might simply note the kind of thought that is trying to grab my attention. I might say, for example, 'Isn't this that old tale of not feeling loved/respected/adored/taken advantage of?' (as appropriate to the thought).

If I feel in immediate danger, not physical danger but the sort of danger where one feels derailed inside, I consciously choose to offer myself some sort of remedy. The remedy I go to most often is to offer myself the gift of consciously being aware of my breathing; noticing each nuance of the breath; the pace, the sense of the breath traveling through the body, the feeling of peace beginning to resonate in the body; a slower breath. This is an act of self-love and this always feels right; calming.

For several months, the personal challenges have been circling me. I have needed to put my mother into an Aged Care facility. I have needed to make use of a Power of Attorney written 22 years ago to establish my mother's finances and how to pay for this facility. I have needed to address the relationship with my brother and my aunt who have had more knowledge of these matters than me over the years. 

Although my mother chose this facility and this course of action, each time I take her home for a few days I go through the same traumatic experience. At some point, usually the day before she goes back, she becomes hostile towards me and my brother. Although there is no other choice (she has Lewy Body dementia) and we can't leave her on her own for even a couple of hours, we walk her through her choices so that she can arrive at the same conclusion as always; there is no other choice. 

We're not the first family to go through this situation. But when we ask something like, 'How are you feeling?' and she answers 'Who would care how I feel?' or she says to someone 'If they only tried harder I could live in my own home', it hurts. The only answer is self-love; offering yourself that moment of grace where you acknowledge that you are doing the best you can; that this is hard and you need a moment for yourself.

When you need medication to settle the mind and body down, then you need it. I think medication is necessary for some people in some situations. But, I can't imagine it for myself. I do think it would be wonderful for anxieties to feel further away; that the body is less reactive to triggers. On the other hand, I also believe we can learn to do this work without the chemical invasion.

For several months, I have had next to no privacy or personal time for myself. COVID led to a full house; more house bound work; more need to converse with others; less yoga and meditation time. Yet, in a few moments, I can maintain care for myself. 

- Follow the breath

- Listen to the thought stream; be curious; investigate the thoughts.

- Offer yourself the love, attention and respect you need. Don't wait for someone else to give this to you.

In Australia, the phrase 'Life wasn't meant to be easy' was made famous by a politician, of all people. People made fun of him for saying it, but he was right. Only a fool would believe that life was meant to be easy. Life on this planet is full of challenges. We are designed for challenge. We are designed for loss. Grief is something we must all go through. Dying is something we all face.

To believe we can engineer perfect solutions is a fool's game. We can, however, choose to act from a place of love and peace. We can aim to do the best for others but we need to remember that we also need to take care of ourselves. I heard someone refer to this as 'Goddess time'. I loved that.

You might like to try crossing your hands over your heart and listening to the beating of your heart. Yes, my dears, you too deserve your attention, love and care.

Anxiety

Life has been very good to me lately which is why a burst of anxiety came as a bit of a surprise. I was particularly tired going to bed last night. Since returning from overseas I've been running around like the Everready Bunny and tiredness befell me hard. I slept for a little over four hours and then I was wide awake. Not just wide awake in the usual way, I was experiencing that feeling I get from time to time where it feels like something is under my skin agitating me.

I've noticed in times like this I have taken a rational outlook and look for reasons why I might be experiencing this physiological response. It is as if my mind won't accept it and so I need to find the reason why this is happening.

I did manage to get to sleep again finally but when I woke up the feeling of agitation was there again, even louder and more insistent that I pay attention to it. It makes me want to move and to move away from all human contact. It makes me want to seek out my own company, so that I can settle the anxious response down.

For the first time ever I googled this experience to learn what I already instinctively knew - this was a physical response to anxiety. In a way, this calmed me. I was assured that it didn't last, and that's right. It doesn't last too long, if you can just breathe through it.

Importantly, I have learned that these anxious moments, not necessarily resulting from any particular experience or emotion, simply come. There is no need for self-flagellation, or to involve anyone else, but simply to acknowledge that I am someone who experiences these unpleasant sensations from time to time. It's not a flaw of character, or even something that I need trouble myself about. It is simply my reality. Experiencing this sort of response to an unspecified anxiety is part of being me.

Just as my experience began without warning so too did it end mid morning of its own accord. I kept to myself for my own self care purposes but also to not involve anyone else in my distress. I went about my morning quietly, knowing that to do simple physical tasks calms the experience. I soothed myself by telling myself many times that I would be all right soon, that the crawling feeling under my skin, the dark mood, would soon lift, as it did.

People who are anxious don't ask for the anxiety, don't enjoy the anxiety and only make matters worse by being hard on themselves. I've made enormous inroads on my anxious disposition, enjoy a happy and full life and consider myself a fortunate person in all the important ways.

Still, the anxiety waltzes into my life without an invitation from time to time. It's unsettling and uncomfortable ,but it's my reality and I have no quarrel with it. As best I can I give it room. I've accepted it, happy to wave it goodbye rather than kicking it out the door.

Deep waters

The suchness of things is that anxiety has been my companion for a very long time. I'd fight against it in various ways. Mainly, I'd push through it. It compromised performance in situations like exams, for sure, but I still sat the exams, didn't allow it to topple me.

Once a mother, anxiety seemed almost a natural way of life. There was the children's health to consider, their happiness, doing things in the right way. Being an empathic person, I'd see the situation through their eyes. I didn't ever want them to feel that as their mother I'd fallen short, so I'd go the extra mile. I actually worried about whether the snack I sent to school was okay, or if the children were doing the right activities. I sweated all details.

One summer I registered my eldest son for a 5 day program in a sort of park. I think they called it the Indians program, or something like that. He wasn't happy about this, begrudgingly got out of the car, as 8 years old can do, making their mothers feel so guilty. When it was time to collect him they were doing some sort of pow wow gathering of the clan and I thought to myself, 'Oh wow, I think he was right, it's kind of cheesy.' But, the thing was he adored it and couldn't wait to get back there the next day, hurried me up so he wouldn't be late.

I say to them every so often, 'It's impossible I always got it right. If I did or said something that has damaged you please talk to me about it.' They've told me the odd thing, mainly laughing about it as they said it, but I think the report card is pretty good. They still write me the most amazing statements on birthday cards.

I'm not entirely sure how I made it through bringing up four children and being plagued with crippling anxiety, but I somehow did.

Nowadays, I've more time to myself, though there is still plenty of work to do and places to go. As time goes by I relish the days when I can be silent. I think there is peace to be found in silence. Silence gives the ego a rest and gets us in touch with the inner part of us that is peaceful; that part that is free of worldly identity and roles. Silent, I am just me, pure consciousness. I notice the whir of the fan, the air that moves in and out of my lungs, the light touch on the tips of my fingers as I create these words on the screen.

With a sense of acceptance now, with a stronger sense of the Now, I am much more able to access peace, which is for me a non anxious space.

I can make the excuse that we have had a ridiculously hot November which has probably slowed most of us down but the truth is that I have felt less inclined to run about and less inclined to do work of any kind than I ever have before.  The shirts to be ironed are mounting up!

Already I see I must get a 2018 diary to fill in all the appointments and plans being made, some of which I am very excited about. Yet, it's a commitment to noting time which doesn't suit me at all right now. Honestly, if I could escape to the mountains for months and stop counting time that would suit me very well. There is so much happening inside of me, I want to soak in it. i don't  want to have to note the day of the week or the time of the day.

On Sunday I had the good fortune to attend a silent day retreat. We walked in silence and sat in silence and sometimes we talked, not a lot of chatter but an opportunity to pose a thought to the group, one at a time. It was a nice taster, an aperitif, for a week long silent retreat I will do next year.

I noticed that on return to home it was a nightmare for my mind. There was dinner to prepare, and extra people to serve that had dropped in. Then, my son brought home a rowdy crowd. I simply had to escape to my bedroom and breathe slowly for 5 minutes. There was no transition from the retreat space to a loud home space and it felt to me like everyone was on steroids. We don't realize how loud it all is until we dive into the deep waters inside.

Perhaps it is no co-incidence that I got on very well with my maternal grandmother when quite a few other people found her inaccessible. After a very busy life both as a mother and a businesswoman she craved the life of the keeper of a lighthouse. I got that.

Impulsivity

Yesterday morning I sent my husband an article that I thought it would be useful for him to read. It talked about a symptom of ADHD - impulsivity - and offered some strategies a person could use to help with that tendency.

For example, some people blurt out what they think in a business meeting for fear of forgetting the thought when they do get a chance to air their views. If such a person were to jot down the thought this would prevent the feeling of desperation to get out the thought at an inappropriate time. Hilary Clinton did this several times in her debates with Donald Trump.

In the case of a personal conversation a person might note that his or her hand is clenched as a clue to take a few deep breaths rather than talk over someone or go into a monologue, rather than to remain a conversationalist.

Last evening, there was a brief discussion about health. I think my husband mentioned a particular vitamin that he was out of, or something related to a vitamin or mineral. I assured him that I wasn't discounting what he said but that lifestyle issues were an important part of aging in a healthy way. So, the idea is to get yourself into a situation where anxiety is easily managed - eat well, exercise most days, enjoy your life and keep your body motoring along in a consistent and gentle way.

He debunked the importance of lifestyle, as he always does. That's okay. We have differing views on the matter. But, he did raise an important point. Lots of people have lots of anxiety in the form of responsibility and it doesn't do them any harm, as far as we can tell.

Of course, I happen to think that my husband's anxiety has done him a lot of harm but again that relates to the lifestyle choice of carrying his anxiety with him nearly 24/7 for a very long time. He doesn't have a healthy lifestyle balance. Anyway, I can't do much about that at this time and it's not the point of the journal entry.

It got me thinking about anxiety - the kind of anxiety that makes you feel stressed, miserable, under the gun, tired and worried - and it's a very inward thinking, non-relating sort of thing. When overly stressed it's a rare person that is sexually aroused. Stress closes down the desire for life that is abundantly available when stress is low and a person is well rested on a daily basis.

When someone is stressed they tend to not behave as well as they might,  perhaps demanding that their beliefs and ideas are most important and require all the air space; indeed,  snuffing any other ideas out. The ideal situation goes that we need to act and think sympathetically towards such people. It is, after all, some sort of anxiety showing up in a dysfunctional communication style. We are asked to walk in the other person's shoes and see into their insides. Ah, yes, the rudeness relates to anxiety!

Yet, it actually doesn't work that way after a time. Rather, the tendency becomes to realize that it is better to disengage from this dysfunctional conversation (monologue) and to keep your opinions to yourself.

When you keep your opinions to yourself, you keep yourself to yourself and in this way there is no relate-ion-ship. You remain alone, in essence protecting the relationship from combustion; rather, keeping the relationship on hold until, and if, behavior improves.

To be aware of a tendency to be impulsive and to learn the strategies that enable you to have control of any impulsivity is not only a gift to yourself but to all the other people in your life. Impulsivity drowns those people around you until one day you realize that all the people around you have their heads under the water.

Anxiety

In my younger years when I first started this online journal, I had much less knowledge and awareness of anxiety issues. I had certainly experienced anxiety myself but my mind hadn't ventured to the extent of it in the world. Now, I am aware of its existence every day. The world probably hasn't changed all that much in the past nine years, but rather I've become more aware of the fact that people face ordeals, not least of which is in their own minds.

Let's take the last 24 hours of my life. I went to school to volunteer and did my first full school day, exhausting! I began with the Preppies, listening to their reading, and that went quite well. The little chap Tom who had been such a concern had come back from a term break with a sense of confidence I hadn't seen until yesterday. I got the sense that he had made a decision, that he could do this school thing; that if he tried very hard he was going to make sense of the 26 letters and their combinations. He's still functioning at a slow rate but I, and his teacher too, felt less anxious.

By noon I was in the Second Grade classroom and that's where I stayed until the end of the day. I've got to know the children in this class. There is no denying there are issues here. There's a huge range of ability and some aberrant behavior. I like to give the teacher lots of praise and tell her the progress I note, because as she says, and it is true, it is not so easy to gauge, day by day.

I've seen some great progress with literacy, though not so much with numeracy. I fail to understand why we are not teaching children how numbers relate to one another. I hate having them use tokens to work out simple problems, 13-8 = ?, when it seems to me that if they understood the relationship of numbers they could feel more at ease. If 7+3= 10 then we know that 3+7=10 and that 4 +6=10,and so on, and thus if you know 10-8=2, you can quickly devise that the answer to the problem 13-8=5. I've done this sort of massaging of numbers all my life.

The classroom is chaotic, the whole school is chaotic in terms of noise levels. It is anxiety inducing for me to listen to a teacher go on and on at high pitch levels when the children and I are working so darn hard on these problems, at the same time as I am trying to give them strategies to make math seem more like fun than a hard slog.

Anxiety induces anxiety and her anxiety to maintain supreme control really gets me on edge, to say nothing of the children. One little chap was in tears so upset was he at the tongue lashing he was getting, and one of the little girls in my group overheard the teacher talking and promptly broke into tears. It's probably against policy but what the hell, we had a hug and I rubbed her back. Understood, she was settled two minutes later.

Ir was such havoc that when a child asked me if he could get his drink bottle my response was, "Is it going to upset Miss K?" Oh yeah, I'm just one of the kids in these situations. All this anxiety I felt in the school reminded me of my own anxiety in being in anxious school situations and the dreams that never ended. I dreamed for years of losing my school bag, or of being at the mercy of merciless people and I think it all started when these school teachers who were so dictatorial had me in their sights.


'Where's Jack?" I asked another teacher and she had the sad news that his mother had moved him to a closer school, a rougher school, where Jack was highly unlikely to flourish. The poor wee lad is functioning at the lowest level, has a hopeless home life, and yet we had the loveliest conversations; a dear little gentle giant.

I decided it was time for a workout of the body this morning. As I sat on my mat I heard someone talking about her relationship. 'After this, he's a stranger to me.' Really? Even in the pilates class there is no relief from this?

After working my core until it burned I went up for a fresh juice. I didn't want to talk much. I'd done enough of that yesterday, but a woman engaged me in conversation. I found myself hearing about her sick husband who has bone cell cancer, very rare, and how the dog, 17 years, had to be put down last week.

'It's so hard. They are part of the family.'
'He was my family. I don't have children,' she said.

Potentially, I just found someone new, or someone found me, to fret about.

She went on to tell me about the friend she was about to visit who had broken her leg and then she talked about our terrible traffic and the behavior of drivers on the road, and how entitled so many people seem now. I couldn't disagree with a word she said. It can feel that  the world is on steroids and people, anxious to keep up and to get up and to keep going, are simply knocking people out of the way to get ahead. It's all so primitive.

But, all is not lost. I am reminded that during the Pilates class I had this random thought: 'My body is my temple'. It came out of nowhere but it was a thought that encapsulated my thinking of late. If my body is my temple then I don't put into it unhealthy things. I exercise it and walk it. I keep anxiety away.

But, how? How does one keep anxiety under control? Here are some of my thoughts as I walked home:

1) What's the worst that could happen? We have to learn not to think of every little biddy thing as a big thing. Yeah, I misplaced something recently, so rather than sweat it, I remind myself that this doesn't happen too often. Just let go. Save it for something big.

2) The world could be considered chaotic. It isn't really. It is our perception that the world is chaotic. So, change the perception. In my case, this might be cleaning a room, or a cupboard or writing down dates into a diary. If it all feels too much, sort, because this helps.

3) Sometimes the world feels like it is full of bad guys. There are bad guys but there are way more good guys and lots of hurting guys. People suffer just like me. We are not alone. This is a comforting thought. We are no different to anyone else.

4) Rather than worry about the world, do something, act. If everyone helps someone, that's a good thing. Do what you can, where you can. It adds up.

5) If you are feeling anxious, and who isn't feeling anxious sometimes, remember that you are probably worrying about the future or the past. Slow down. Slow it down so much that you actually say to yourself what you are doing. 'I am picking up the soap'. How does it feel? 'I am lathering the soap'. How does it feel?

Get back in your body. You'll be amazed how good it feels to remind yourself that you aren't just a talking head.

Personality disorders, it's the truth that sets us free

For a good few years now I've been reflecting on what makes for a person to have a particular personality.

The medical community like to put various personality disorders into Clusters and this make sense. Various personality problems, such as abnormal levels of anxiety, can be found in Cluster C, for example.

It seems highly probably that if it's one thing, it could well also be another too. For example, there may be an anxiety issue or depression or a mood disorder but there may also be something else, like an excessive need for control, and this might be given another name.

If, for example, an individual was primarily concerned with himself or herself, or his or her needs, to the detriment of others, Narcissistic Personality Disorder is worth considering. It makes diagnosis tricky. It makes sense to be aware of co-morbidity.

In the first episode of Season 6 of Suits which I recently watched, Mike Ross, the man who has been working as a lawyer without actually attending law school, is being processed in jail. In the course of that processing he must fill out a psychological questionnaire. The person in the jail asking him to do this tells him that his answers suggest he is a narcissist. He goes on to make the improbable assertion that jail time will have him come out in two years time a better man, implying that they can 'fix' the trait.

It's not impossible. Awareness is key. Unless you can get a person to see into their own personality issues, then the exercise is a waste of time. But, if some awareness is gleaned, with very hard work and a willingness to co-operate advances can be made.

According to the professionals that work with people day in and day out, the prognosis is not encouraging, however. With every day that passes in a person's life acting, thinking and believing as they do, the behaviors are more set, like a glue that holds a tile to a wall.

I've pondered what happens to make a person so uncomfortable in life that they devise many variations on normal behavior and see it as the new normal. There seems no other explanation than that they did not receive the absolutely fundamental needs of a child.

Whilst most people would agree that personality disorders relate to damage in childhood, probably occurring when they did not receive adequate warmth and acceptance from their parents or caregivers, some people do not accept this as fact.

I read on a chat board for OCPD (Obsessive Compulsive Personality Disorder) that one mother disagreed vehemently that she was in any way to blame, since her child demonstrated a need for total order in her life well before three years of age. Some people who left comments felt that the mother's response, aggressive and dismissive, suggested some sort of personality problem that may have been transposed onto the child. I think there are genetic factors that are passed down from one generation to the other, but not necessarily biologically.

I'd like to pose a scenario. Perhaps a young man served in WW11. He never did manage to open up about his feelings relating to the carnage he witnessed. Back home and resettled in peace time, he becomes a father. He treats his son very severely, locking him away in a cupboard or in the chicken coop when he is naughty. To his mind, this sort of treatment isn't so bad, but to the little child whose world is his home and school, he has come to see that the world is a dangerous place. He develops an anxiety disorder.

As an adult the little boy's parenting style is better, but far from good. One part of his brain recognizes the damage caused to him but it is still difficult for him, with no good role model, to know what is good parenting. Perhaps spanking his children whenever anxiety overwhelms him doesn't seem so bad. He is not, after all, locking them in the chicken coop. He knows not to do that. But, still, spanking to his mind, is perfectly appropriate.

Perhaps his  small son one day dares to share his feelings about something that is on his mind, an observation, nothing more. Does the father have the capacity to see it for what it is, a little boy trying to understand his world, or does he take umbrage to the comment, a potential slight? If so, what is the message to the little boy? It is simple. It is dangerous to share feelings, even with one's own flesh and blood.

Not having been given the opportunity to attend college or university himself, for his father didn't agree to this, the father of the little boy now takes education very seriously. On the surface, this is a good thing. He wants for his little boy what he could not have himself, a noble and caring thought towards his child.

But, what if the little boy's anxiety that started at home in his earliest years makes it difficult for him to attend to school work? What if he doesn't bring home the grades the father wants? Is the father careful about his choice of words or does he tell the little boy that he will never amount to anything, causing the little boy much more anxiety? Now, the little boy questions his own abilities. Now, he becomes obsessed with good grades.

What if he punishes the little boy for small mistakes? Does the little boy see his father for what he is, damaged? Of course not. Children don't think like that. He tries especially hard to please this man who seems so terribly hard to please and in the course of these attempts he determines that he will check everything, order everything. He will go over every detail because in this way he may not be admonished. He may, one day, receive some praise. This is the way the world works, he determines. Control of everything is paramount.

His life, his father's life, his grandfather's life, all were precipitating factors for a condition he will carry with him to his grave, Obsessive Compulsive Personality Disorder.

No-one can sort this for he will never acknowledge it as a problem at all. Being obsessive and compulsive is his learned way of making it through this world. He certainly won't seek treatment for it. He won't ever know how his spouse and children suffered because of it.

What I like to think is that in time the condition will no longer be passed down to future generations. Although the world of psychology warns that the prognosis is bleak there is the power of knowing the truth and speaking the truth.

The little boy may never know or acknowledge the truth but the world wide web now a part of our modern life has given us all opportunities to know the truth and thus to speak the truth. Secrets wound, for generations. It's the truth that sets us free.

Being oneself

In the early period of writing in this web journal I noted the fact that I masturbated at a very early age. It seemed to be part and parcel of being a kinky girl, since so many other kinky girls had written about this as well.

I don't reject the thought that kinky girls masturbate early but what I also now know is that if a child's emotional needs are not met in childhood they use two tools to soothe themselves: masturbation and food. It stands to reason that this was the primary reason for my nightly activity between the sheets.

It's really very hard to say for sure what were the first images in my head. I was so young; maybe four or five when I started to self stimulate every night, once the lights were off and the covers enclosed me. So, I can't with confidence say that I imagined this or that image as I masturbated at that young age. However, I do know that I have many memories of images where I was being disciplined and humiliated. It was about a school environment, masters and mistresses. Considerably later, it moved into domestic environments, and even later, it became debauched; multiple use; orgies, the whole gamut of the sexual experience on the big screen in my head.

School, at first, my real school that is, was a frightening place for me. For two years it all felt foggy, wobbly. I think what happened, though I have no proof to offer, is that the teachers were making me write with my right hand when I am most certainly a left handed person. I remember having to write on the board and looking back on what I had written. It seemed indecipherable. My reports for the first two years of school, which I still have, make clear that I was unsettled and unfocused. I needed to "try harder". If you then read the report for Second Grade you'd swear this was the report of a different child. It is glowing; a high achiever, focused, motivated and self disciplined.

Of course, when I was a child there was no ADHD diagnosis, no panic attack or anxiety diagnosis; no assistance for a child that entered school life feeling foggy and wobbly. The only other difference between the first few years and Second Grade that I can ascertain, apart from the possible demand that I use my right hand, is the Second Grade Teacher. She was a tough Irish woman who brooked no nonsense and, as I recall, demanded performance from me. I was her mission and I think it is fair to say that one way or the other she got me going at school, even though I feared her and thought her a mean person. I think I just responded to the attention she gave me, even if it was not always pleasant.

At about the same time as I became this model student my ballet years were settling into place. I started ballet early at age 4, I think it was, and the first few years there were wobbly too. My ballet master was extremely strict and not afraid to criticize. I somehow found myself thriving in a strictly controlled environment where excellence was demanded of me. If you didn't get it right the first time you just kept doing it until you got it right. This was all fodder for my nights, when I masturbated myself to sleep to images of this sort of containment, including corporal discipline; something which I never received at home at any age. It wasn't the real life people in my imaginations but rather faceless sorts of people who performed roles; disciplinary roles.

For those who did in fact get a paddling or a spanking when little I don't have any doubt that most of them find this a most galling memory. If it happened to me I suppose I'd feel the same way. But, left to my own devices to more or less bring myself up, it strikes me as caring, assuming it was about care and not about abuse. In my fantasies someone cared enough to monitor, to create expectations, to discipline when there was wrong doing. These images of being disciplined were soothing to me, you see. There was a fear factor, definitely, but it was under the auspices of it being for my own good too.

I do have a couple of memories of the Third and Fourth Grades. By third grade I'd developed a fear of making a mistake such that my anxiety made it difficult for me to focus on the meaning of words at times. I imagine that, using today's understanding of what can happen to children I was having a panic attack, not unlike the way my youngest child had panic attacks in the classroom in Grade 7 when we got him some therapy for this debilitating situation. But, I got the results somehow or other and navigated my way through to the end of school frustrating most teachers because my exam results were rarely up to the expectations they had of me given my standard of work through the year in class. I lived a certain kind of hell during exams since my brain would freeze and I'd only remember snippets here and there.

If you fast forward to when I was having my first child, I undertook a Diploma of Education wherein there was a subject 'Educational Psychology'. Between the baby's naps I prepared for the final exam. I still have a vivid image of sitting in the Philosophy Room of my University and seeing the paper for the first time. It was complete gobbledy gook. I knew nothing. I managed to settle myself down with this thought: that I must know something.

Bit by bit, I began to see that I did know something here and there on the paper and over the course of the two hours, more and more knowledge returned to me. I thought perhaps that I might just pass. With trepidation two weeks later I went to the Notice Board and looked up my academic number to discover that I had got 17/20. I was really pleased. I looked down the notice then to see what sort of other marks were recorded and discovered that 17 was indeed the highest mark.

What I have suffered from all my life is not an ability issue and that's not to have tickets on myself. I was just born with some strengths in that department. Where I am very weak is in self esteem and self confidence. I can struggle to have confidence as to my ability to complete a task well, a perfectionism that can hold me back. And, I can have very weak self-esteem, an inability to believe that I am good enough as I am; that I have inherent worth as I came into the world.

It is an undeniable fact that my issues are greatly improved when I accept that I am a woman who needs a dominant man in her life. I really would hate to be that person. Honestly. I'm not easy to keep in line. My head can reject that need. Other women around me don't need that sort of supervision and containment. But, I do. I do. I do. I do. That's just a simple fact.

I've spoken to a number of dominant men in my life, mostly via this blog, but via other routes as well, and I know that each man has his own approach. These approaches rarely resonate with me. I am not sure why this is. Sometimes I think, well, I can't actually be 'submissive' since simply being obedient or serving doesn't do it for me.

What happened to me is that one day I began to correspond and then chat with this one person, and something therein clicked for me. It was something about an element of care that I felt. He was definitely getting something out of it for himself to have these chats. Why else would he or anyone else keep chatting? But in his case it felt that he had somehow got to the core of my needs; needs that I didn't understand myself. But, he did.

He talks about me needing to be "anchored" and interestingly I think my ground chakra is by far the weakest. I am much too often in my head. I live up there when I need to feel the ground under my feet.

Pia Mellody talks and writes about self esteem being made up of values, power and abundance notions in our heads. Self esteem is in tact when we say to ourselves that we matter as we are, when we have self control and self containment, and good self care.

There's a part of me that feels that I should be able to get to this place of healthy self esteem all on my own. I don't feel that I should be leaning on someone else to get me through this. Yet, it is hard to dispute the facts as I know them to be. I've a certain 'bimbo' sort of disposition. I do best when certain methods are used; methods for which I have a love/hate relationship. I feel, on certain days, that I am weak to need this, and yet, I rise up when those methods are in place. I am indeed anchored.

There is no one 'right' way for all of us. We do all have certain human emotional needs, of course. There are wonderful tools available for the recovery process useful for all who have need of them. I am glad to have them at my disposal. I am also relieved to have kinkiness at my disposal. It's when I accept all of me that I really thrive.

The first step

There are advantages to being more 'aware' of the emotions within and encircling a person. As awareness grows so too does the ability to analyze what is going on in a logical way. Less than a week ago I asked my husband if he would be prepared to take some steps to make our marriage more of a formal power exchange dynamic. I saw this as a very positive first step to a potentially wonderful future together.

Whilst we don't have the perfect life in his eyes, since he hasn't experienced the level of financial success he would have liked to achieve by now, we have a good life, live in a great country and have a wonderful, close family. The setting and stage of our lives seemed right for taking this step towards a closer and more fulfilling personal relationship that I hoped would set us up nicely to be happy in an ongoing and everpresent way.

I wrote to him about this matter and I did it via email. To date, there is no response. These plans were put into action at a time when the future seemed so promising. He was relaxed having been on vacation at our holiday house. Although our time together wasn't as personally fulfilling as it could have been from my perspective since we were often surrounded by children in a house where noise travels, I was filled with hope.

We've been back in the city  only a few short days and the rot has set in. He has had several explosions of his emotions, unable to contain his distress and anxiety related to several issues that either spun out of his control or that frustrated him. He's been rude, a reaction to his internal distress at external factors, and although he usually offers an apology, it's distressing to me.

There is not a doubt in my mind that he would benefit by seeing a psychologist who could use some cognitive behaviour techniques to help him deal with this perturbation. I'd love to see him get some relief from these distressing feelings that he experiences, but also so that we can have a more mutually respectful and anxious-free environment at home, from where he mostly works.

I know to take care of myself in various ways, such as to find a quiet place in the house, or to leave the house and settle my own internal upset. But, this issue has been a constant throughout the marriage, only altering in intensity as befits his own internal stresses and the external environment; in other words, how life goes for him from minute to minute. 

I can train myself to be the perfectly submissive wife, to handle my own anxiety privately and to show him due care and consideration, but this does nothing in providing him with strategies to cope with his own anxiety. As his wife I am in no position to help him here. He needs a professional for that task, but unfortunately has resisted all my pleas over several years. He's a proud man, a stubborn man and he is in denial.

Since writing the letter the idea of a more formal and established power exchange dynamic with him seems less do-able and, frankly, less attractive. I don't think that you can have a power exchange dynamic with a person who assumes the dominant role but who exhibits anxiety quite regularly.  Can you? The anxiety ridden person is so preoccupied with his own distress, what has he left to offer his submissive? Of course, some dominants find playing with their submissive an instant remedy for anxious feelings, but unfortunately my husband is not one of them. He tends to want to brood over his concerns.

I think the first step has to be to fix the anxiety; for him to learn strategies as to how to soothe himself. If the anxiety can come under control he is better placed to live his life - his business life - in a state of control and positivism which can then allow him to take on the power dynamic with me formally, in a way that is achievable. In a state of high anxiety I don't think we can really make progression in achieving the kind of relationship that I seek.

Empathy shouldn't lead to stress

I discovered a blog per chance recently, written by an intelligent, clear-headed American male who is sexually dominant. He calls it BDSM: Things You Need to Know and over the past couple of weeks reading there I have enjoyed it immensely. Unfortunately, he hasn't updated the blog in the past several months, although he does respond still to the odd comment left for him. I'm hoping he'll come back to writing there because it is most insightful reading.

In response to one of his posts a commenter made the point that she experienced anxiety when her dom was "upset" and Will responded to it as follows:

'Hi Jennifer, your anxious response to his "upset" state of mind could be due to your natural empathy, or previous experience (in childhood or adulthood) of someone close to you not dealing well with their own burdens, or an unrealistic sense of duty towards your partner. Asking yourself "what is the origin of this anxiety; what do I fear might happen" whenever it occurs might help you get clarity on that.

How he feels and behaves is of course his responsibility, and although you can lift him by your devotion, you cannot shift that obligation from him. Empathy is beneficial in that it gives you insight into his feelings without him having to describe them. But not to the point of stress on your part — you need to remain at peace in order to be completely present for both of you. As for latent fears you might have, see Assuaging a Sub's Fear of Abandonment.'

Will's comments resonated with me for a couple of reasons. First of all, I can most certainly experience an anxious response to an authority figure being upset. Whether it was a boss from the past, or my husband or my mentor, I've been anxious when I have displeased any one of them.

Will responded to Jennifer that her feelings of upset could be her natural empathy and this is certainly the case with me. I can very easily put myself in the shoes of another person and feel their anger, or their pain, or their distress or their 'upset'. I absorb this upset and it becomes my own distress. This came up in the therapy I had a few years ago, my tendency to hold onto someones distress, and I was encouraged to give back that upset to the person who owned it. It wasn't mine to take, she said. Yet, it's one thing to say something like that and another thing to make such a huge change in one's thinking. I remain profoundly empathic.

Will also suggests that Jennifer may feel an unrealistic sense of duty towards her partner and I do that too. When I feel bound to someone in some way my sense of duty towards them, to make them happy, and happy with me, is notable. It is something of a crusade for me, to see it as my responsibility to keep the peace and to be pleasing. To not be pleasing to such a person is to fill me up with an uncomfortable level of guilt. I'm really quite eager to take the blame and to analyze how I may have done wrong, regardless of their own personality traits that may make it difficult to always be pleasing in the first place. I tend to nearly always feel that I could have done better and to see it as my responsibility to please.

The really huge statement that Will made in my opinion is that empathy is useful, but not to the point of causing distress, because it works best if a submissive is at peace and present for both of them. As someone who has traversed the road seeking consistent peace of mind it made complete sense that my anxiety was in fact a lose:lose situation. My goal going forward was clear: to limit or even eliminate anxiety in terms of taking on other's people's distress and calling it my own.

When you've lived with someone for decades, known them since they entered University, you get to understand that people are fundamentally 'cooked' at any early age. Yes, people can change if they are motivated to do so, but a great deal doesn't change. My husband, for example, needs to express his distress and he usually needs to express it to me. This has been a constant for over 35 years.  In general, once he has blown off enough steam, he gets over what it was that distressed him, but in the meantime I am in a position where I must listen to the distress, acknowledge it, sometimes over and over, but not allow it to lodge inside my body or my mind. So, I demonstrate my usual levels of empathy, hold onto any opinions that wouldn't be helpful in such a situation, and I endeavor to distance myself from the anxiety such that I don't own it or accept it as my own anxiety. This is the theory, not always obtainable in practice usually because I am pushed to my elastic limit over time.

In terms of a power exchange dynamic things don't always go perfectly in spite of the best laid plans. In the rush towards Christmas, for example, I didn't take the time to fully understand a directive and I did it wrong. This was very far from my intention and no-one could have been harder on me than I was on myself. We're all human, doms and subs alike, and disappointment can tend to sit like an unwelcome visitor, making everyone uncomfortable.

Will asks Jennifer to consider what is the origin of her anxiety. I asked a similar question of myself and find it very hard to answer. I think my anxiety stems from finding myself in a situation where I have displeased and not being sure what to do about it. I think it is the uncertainty that is so anxiety-ridden for me, because if I was told to repeat the exercise properly, I'd do it and the anxiety would simply melt away. It's the 'I'm not sure what you want me to do now' feeling that makes for such anxiety, almost as if holding me in an anxious state is the punishment and the way I am meant to learn. Certainly an anxiety-ridden state means that I'll do everything humanly possible to avoid landing myself in that state again, but it also means I'm operating on the basis of fear, and I'm not sure this is a good thing, for me or for anybody. Whether fear is intended is something it is impossible for me to judge, but I know I do feel fear, fear of having displeased and what that means to my inner landscape.

Even as I felt uncomfortable about it, quite foolish for making such a silly mistake, I was trying hard to not absorb the negative feelings. It was my mistake, absolutely, but it was just that, a mistake. Should I allow the mistake or the negative vibes I felt were coming my way to interfere with my effectiveness such that other people would be disappointed in my performance, or that my state of mind would be compromised such that I didn't enjoy Christmas?

It was in these moments of conscious decision making about my response to the unhappy situation  that I decided it was time that I recognize that my empathy could not be allowed to spill over into distress. The mistake had happened in spite of my best intentions. I'd made my apology, was not in a position to rectify the situation to satisfy immediately and thus must recognize that there was no value in going over it in my mind, in distressing myself. I was choosing not be distressed.

Maybe this doesn't sound like a big deal. For people without a particularly empathic soul I don't think it is a big deal. However, for a deeply empathic soul, one who gets off and finds peace in being pleasing, it's huge. The message I have taken from Will's blog, one of the many messages there, is that a submissive's job is to be present. The dominant may say something out of turn (dominants tend to be full of themselves, let's face it, and hence blurt out something that is upsetting to hear), but it's helpful if this doesn't trigger a submissive too often, that's she resilient and cognisant of the fact that his distress isn't hers; that being submissive doesn't extend to owning and wearing his emotions.

In the same way, Will (and I'm still thinking about this) doesn't wear his submissive's emotions and makes the point that to get too involved in her emotions is to make it difficult to control her. In essence, the message is that we are both responsible for owning and controlling our own emotions; very grown up stuff indeed.

Grief

Grief is tricky. We lost one of our puppies due to illness a few months ago and it was only a week or so ago that the thought occurred to me that I was coming out of my grief. I was in the park running along with the little girl and it struck me that I felt a lot less sad. I still think of him constantly, mind you, especially in the park where he took it upon himself to be my protector, but I was out there a bit more regularly. It felt good to be back on track with life.

Over the weekend, we had a few days away in the country; a blessed relief from the fast whirl of life. Then, immediately back to expectations, responsibilities and a fast pace of life; the wild and woolly run up to the end of the year.

It didn't pass me by that I began the first day of the final term of the school year agitated. Little things. I didn't actually realize that my anxiety was evident until someone close to me pointed it out. There was perhaps a moment of defensiveness and then I saw it like he saw it: ANXIETY! DANGER! DANGER!

Registering it for what it was I took the necessary steps to aid myself and felt better. Got through Tuesday all right in the end. Wednesday, I did something that brings me pleasure but the self-esteem was down. It troubled me that I still wasn't on top of it. Why? No idea. I simply rode it out as best I could. It would pass soon.

Wednesday afternoon, I knew that something was wrong but I couldn't exactly put my finger on it. Thursday morning and it was clear that my son's anxiety was through the roof. He wasn't getting ready for school in the usual way and we sat there in his room and talked.

Was it about the English essay overdue? Maybe I could sit and talk him through it? No. No. It wasn't that, he said. He knew how to do them, he said. Got one back yesterday and got a very high score. He could have done it last night but he was too upset to do so. He'd talked with friends on the Internet about his feelings but it hadn't helped. He didn't know what it was.

Okay, I said, I'm going to hug you. He wrapped his arms around me as if holding on for dear life. The tears came in great sheets of grief.

"It''s B", he sobbed, "I miss him so much. "He was the best dog in the world."

"Grief has it's own logic, darling. I know. Just let it out."

I suggested he go back to sleep and he asked for the little girl to be with him. Soon he'll wake, shower, eat the breakfast I cook him and we'll be back on track.

There is an end to the stages of grief and we all, in our own good time, end up in the final stage: acceptance. There are good days and bad days and ultimately we accept and drive on. Such is life.