Last week we read about Esther’s painful experiences. In this last part we see cautious, brave steps towards a different approach.
We have been talking for a long time and after a short break, Esther’s partner has now joined us as she talks about this part of their life together. When the emotions arise and I invite her to close her eyes and feel what is happening in her body, she notices that she is distracted by her husband’s breathing. Something unusual happens; she says calmly, but with determination: “Hearing your breathing makes me very nervous. I realise that I would like to talk with just the two of us again.” It is wonderful to see how her partner picks up on this: he acknowledges her feeling, gets up from the couch, walks to the kitchen, gets something to drink and asks if his wife needs anything and then he disappears upstairs, where their son is now in bed for his nap. We look at each other: “You were right,” she says, “with him next to me, I do indeed take care of him and not myself.” I have two very brave people in front of me: one who speaks out and one who responds with understanding.
We resume the conversation about their relationship. She says that she felt all her security disappear due to the lack of support from her parents, as if she were becoming homeless. At my invitation, she imagines what it would mean for her son if he felt this way. The tears well up again: “I would never want to give him that feeling… That is why I am so angry with myself about letting him cry…” Again, together we look for some softening and more understanding towards this harsh judgment about herself.
We are slowly working towards a conclusion. I summarise a little what she has said, how she has drifted away from the deep connection with her Self in so many things, with who she really is, how she so often could not be herself, and how she now, in recognising the nervousness resulting from the presence of her partner, listened to her inner knowledge. “But it is a deep conviction that if I don’t take care of the other person, then I have failed. I feel I cannot betray that loyalty.” Intellectually she knows that it is not her responsibility to care for the other person’s feelings, but the pattern is deeply ingrained and when she continues to explain it, it turns out that there is also a lot of intergenerational pain that offers an explanation for this. There is a lot of threat in the family history, a lot of social unrest, and the tendency towards overprotection by her parents is very likely related to this. However, this was counterproductive, because the freedom they tried to secure was no longer there: Esther felt like a prisoner, someone who could not and was not allowed to take care of herself.
She is silent for a bit and suddenly she says: “Yes, that’s right… and I am passing that on when I don’t let my partner take care of our son, because I want to do all of it myself… When something happened again recently, I felt that I could tone down a bit, so I called and said: ‘Do it the way you want.’ Indeed: that is not necessarily ‘less well’, but just ‘different’ and that is fine.” I recognise her feeling from when our own children were young: I also thought that they would be best off with my approach. She is certainly not alone in that experience and she is invited to forgive herself for that. She does the best she can with what she has available; no one can do more than their best. However, it may be that with more awareness about her behavioural patterns she comes to different choices, choices that also make things easier and lighter for her.
She can also try to let go of the judgments that she does not appreciate from her parents. Then a feeling can arise that she can simple *be*, that she does not just matter when she is seen in what she *does* in her work or in whatever else. If she can have a sweeter ‘inner dialogue’, if she can reduce speaking so sternly to herself, but can view her actions with compassion, everything can become more calm. “You just did it with your husband – you can do it, it is in you!”, I say as encouragement, while she looks at me with wide eyes. I ask if I can hold her. That is okay and I put my arms around her. She leans against me and I feel her muscles relax, feel how she curls up in my embrace like a young girl. We sit like this for minutes, in silence, without moving. After a while she says in tears: “This is what I would have liked to receive from my mother, a hug and the outspoken confidence that everything will work out.”
We wrap up and I ask her what she got out of it. She thinks for a moment and says: “I feel relief. I expressed certain things and it was the first time that I really listened to my emotions. I gave them attention and looked at them, as if I said to myself: ‘I see you now!’ and that made the intensity of what I felt disappear. That was really the first time, despite years of therapy.” We remain silent and reflect together on this victory she has achieved over herself, on this giant step she has taken on her healing journey.
Not everything is finished and resolved, but she has made a brave breakthrough and she can give herself time and space to keep that process going. She can ask for help if she needs it, from her partner, friends, family, whoever she really trusts as a traveling companion. I have felt her power and am confident that beautiful vistas will be revealed!