Oxford was wonderful and it is good to be home. It is hard to beat that, except that I am pretty tired and “vertutzt” as we say, mixed up. As ever, when I return from a high stimulation, growthful experience, I am brimming over with new and exciting ideas; need to put everything away: unpack, wash clothes; try to make order – literally and figuratively; as well as return to the backlog of tasks that I had left here. And of course, life does not stop here at home. Re-connecting and catching up with everyone here. And completing the goodbyes, with the friends who I rarely get to see in person. For an old introvert, most accustomed to being quiet and invisible, I am slowly unwinding and working at integration and regulation. This blog will be somewhat of a patchwork.
Actually, I love patch work, and as a child I loved putting together pieces of color and design in all sorts of patterns, while also making use of scraps. I still have the enormous bedspread I made for my parents’ bed probably 60 years ago. It is a little faded and ragged for wear, but I guess I am too. Only years later did I read somewhere, that making patchwork quilts is an integrative kind of “parts work” for those of us with dissociative fracturing, which is many the survivor of trauma and neglect.
Last night I had the privilege of going to hear Colin Kaepernick speak, another one of my heroes. I knew it was crazy to go out on a work night right after coming home exhausted and jet lagged a couple of days prior. But I wasn’t going to miss that! And actually, I am glad I went! I was particularly interested in the fact that the although the venue had every imaginable kind of tech problem, the people putting on the program, handled it all with such grace, consideration and humility; and the whole crowd was also amazingly patient, understanding and well-behaved. Even when for a good two thirds of the conversation between Colin and stand-up comic W. Kamau Bell, there was no sound at all!
Intergenerational Transmission
It was exciting to experience the receptivity of people from all over the world, for whom the whole area of neglect trauma was coming into view and awareness, many for the first time; as well as returnees who are serious about becoming neglect informed. I feel my work evolving and growing in new directions: deepening my understanding of the developmental roots of violence, and how the dysregulations of attachment trauma spawn dysregulated people who may grow up to become violent individuals and/or destructive leaders, becoming a feedback loop creating new trauma and neglect, and it goes on and on. My old political activist self grows increasingly integrated with the trauma and neglect informed clinician, writer and zealot I have come to be. I am heartened by how increasingly political our field is becoming. And I feel less alone than ever.
I am also widening my work with sexuality in new directions of growth, which appear to be leading to more inclusivity. That brings me great happiness. And it brings me great joy to see the new generation of young therapists coming up behind us old timers, inspired, eager, energetic and fresh. Seeing the young faces from all over the world moves me immensely!
Presence
The most glaring deficit for the child of neglect, is the seemingly simple experience of presence, attention. Attention is experienced as respect, which translates not only to a sense of self, but a sense of value, worthiness, and pride. Pride is the opposite of shame, and shame is the heart of neglect trauma: feeling invisible, unseen, devalued, unimportant, not known, feeling less than, rejected, or like nothing. And as I am learning more and more, that shame can as readily erupt as rage.
Another thing I noticed along similar lines, was the power or impact of names. So many helpers and service workers, tech wizards, and support staff seemed always available and seamlessly stepping in to fill the need. Something so simple as not only seeing them, but asking/remembering their names, seems to have great meaning, and adds to the well of respect.
I learned when I returned that I had been named in Esther Perel’s podcast, which surprised and delighted me. She posted the talk I gave at her New York conference last May. It is available to watch but only for subscribers to her Substack channel. The same was true in that my article on neglect trauma was featured in the Austrian, German language periodical Die Furche. Similarly, one has to subscribe to access it. My apologies! And I cannot deny my pleasure and pride in being named.
I am keeping it short today. To be honest I am gratified that I was able to write something in this current state. Welcome to new readers who may have gotten interested in my work from hearing about neglect at the conference. Thank you to all my ongoing readers, who have had to tolerate my irregular schedule.
Today’s song does not obviously relate to any part of this hodge-podge. I love the line “if your heart says yes, I won’t say no!” Thanks for your presence.
