I sometimes find myself with an image of an infant alone in the dark. I have no idea if it is imagination or primordial memory, or some kind of archetypal or ancestral knowing. But it feels very real. The darkness is vast, empty, echoing and cold, and something about it is urgently lonely. An infant is essentially a bundle of needs and pretty helpless to manage any of them themselves. So depending on the extent of the discomfort, pain or distress, and for how long the cry might be more or less desperate. An infant would have only sensory, emotional or somatic memory, so of course I have no idea, but this scene feels very real, very known to me. And it certainly informs my theory of why many the child of neglect suffers miserably from the weight (and the wait!) of empty time. Boredom and delay, even under-stimulation can be a deathly torture.
Some people “lose track of time,” I am decidedly not one of them! Which is not to say I am never late! I certainly am sometimes. But the kind of abandon where one can actually forget what time it is, has seldom visited me, only if at all with intoxicants, I suspect I am not alone in this. Admittedly the dominion of the clock in psychotherapy, where the day is regimented into pre-measured blocks, suits me. And even the language of “spontaneity” has always rather un-nerved me. Oy vey. But I do like clocks of all kinds, and have many, everywhere. The two times a year when the solstices, or whatever the reason, mandates setting them all back or forward, an hour (as is the genius’ challenge of changing the clock in the car!) is always kind of an event.
Cliché as it may sound, time does seem to speed up as we get older. And as we top the seeming mid-point, the downhill toward mortality appears more undeniable and sometimes imminent. Health is perhaps less to be taken for granted, if we had the luxury ever to take it for granted, and to some extent the Pandemic changed that. But I also notice, many the adult child of neglect becoming painfully aware, for many as they move beyond their early fifties, of all they have missed. It is not unusual in my psychotherapy practice, for neglect survivors long complacent and accepting of a vapid or non-existent sex life, to become vociferous, even intolerant of it, fearing that their window may close. Many other sorts of experiences as well. Partners are often baffled. Where did this “suddenly” come from?
And I do like milestones. The annual dates marking the passage of yet another increment, however arbitrary, are something of a comfort to me, and certainly a cause for reflection. As scrooge-like as I am about most holidays, the orderliness of the flagged dates, assists me in my tracking all sorts of progress, (or not!) in my numerous target areas. All this to say, here we are wrapping up another year: 2023 is nearly done.
2023
Perhaps I always say this, but 2023 was quite the year. Most decidedly emerging from the worst what seemed like a long and lonely winter: the Pandemic of COVID 19. It seems rather surreal looking back, the long months and years of being couped up in pods (if we were lucky!) and seeing only those select few humans in person. Even outside, having to keep a seemingly quaking distance from even neighbors and their dogs. Seeing the now faded remnant of printed reminders, painted on sidewalks or floors, of the requisite “social distancing,” (one of many newly coined terms,) is a weird reminder. I shuddered to think of young children subsisting in a world virtually devoid of touch, something I worry about anyway in the world of neglect, but having it be mandatory chilled me. As did the thought, always chilling, of shut-ins, and “all the lonely people. The US postal service became friend and conduit like never before, as did Instacart and of course Amazon, and the many heroic folks who risked their own health making deliveries to fortunate people like us. And of course the wonders of technologies of all sorts,that enabled me to do what had ever seemed perhaps snobbishly unimaginable, which was continuing the work of psychotherapy in some form remotely. Thank God the worst of those days are behind us, and we were not among the thousands who died daily for quite a while. Many of us, and certainly of you, continue to grieve them. I remember when the vaccine seemed an elusive pipe dream. I still keep my tattered vaccine card in my purse for some reason. Strangely, we never caught it until this last year, and by then with numerous rounds of vaccines in us, it was mild and quick. I am infinitely grateful to see that historical chapter wind down. Of course, now we have others, which I prefer to leave unaddressed for now.
Taking stock of this year, I remember the old childhood round we used to sing: “Make new friends and keep the old, one is silver and the other gold…” I was of course never too good at either. But thankfully with a lot of dogged work on my trauma and neglect, which made a minefield of vacuous no “man’s” land of the interpersonal world, that has changed blessedly and radically 2023 brought many new people into my life, friends, clients, colleagues, even new little family members some of whom are yet to arrive. I have learned to incipiently believe, at least sometimes, that there are live people out there reading these blogs! Well, I must believe it because I keep doggedly cranking them out, telling myself it is worth it and “people” count on them appearing in their cluttered inbox on time. What a radical concept for the child of neglect to actually imagine that there are live others that one cannot see. I remember in graduate school learning the psychobabble buzzwords “object constancy,” to somehow know of the existence of the other even when they are not in plain proximity and sight. When I first started therapy in 1978, I could not imagine I existed in the mind of my therapist from one (then almost daily!) appointment to the subsequent one. I felt compelled to give her all sorts of “stuff,” mostly things I had made, serving almost bookmarks to my existence on the planet. Now I can sometimes even know that you are out there and these words matter! The blogs will probably hit the bicentennial mark pretty soon!
In 2023 I became visible in other previously unimaginable ways. I began to do much more teaching and speaking, something I had thought I never liked much before, The Oxford Trauma conference was rather like a dream, clacking through those hallowed halls in shoes much like the sensible clodhoppers my grandmother wore there in 1905, speaking there on September 2, 2023 which perchance was scheduled to coincide with the centennial of my mother’s birth on September 2, 1923. (The Oxford dream will recur in 2024, even if on different dates! Stay tuned.)
And like the rest of us, I watched and continue to watch myself getting older, nearing 70 before too long, and having to safeguard and appreciate the changes of all sorts that come with that. We have been blessed with strength and health, that we have all too readily taken for granted, and even been to some extent thoughtless or casual about. We truly can’t afford to squander the treasures we do have, even as we grieve the fading of some of them. Our time is not unlimited, nor is our time with those we love most. Let’s do all we can to better ourselves and this sorry world, in the time remaining to us.
Onward
What is on the roster for 2024? I shall set aside the massive categories of the larger world; and the cheeses I have (somewhat) patiently aging in the cave. Speaking for myself, I am on a mission. Gratified, hopeful, and grateful to all of you for your part in it, the world has become much more “trauma informed!.” Not only mental health, but the broader fields of medical health, education, journalism and in many places, even the public at large have become trauma informed. It is about time! And so important! My mission is similarly to introduce the concept of “neglect informed,” not only neglect informed psychotherapy, but putting neglect squarely on the map as a serious priority. This means giving attachment much more its due. I am working on a popular, “trade” book for the larger public on the topic. And hope to get it done this year! And I intend to get serious about getting some sleep! I have played this Russian Roulette with those challenging winks long enough, and I can’t afford to do that anymore! Hope you will join me in sleeping well! It is certainly easier here in glorious Hawaii where we are this week. Out with the old and in with the new! Happy New year!
Today’s Song:
