A few years ago I had an unusual experience: I saw in my mind, sitting in a chair in my room, a four- or five-year-old version of me. He was sitting very still, very patient, aware. It was incredibly sad for me to realize that it was me, or a portion of me, I'd been protecting all my life from emotional pain. Keeping him safe was why my false self developed (I think).

Last week Becky and I started doing a thing called Sensate Focus Excercises (see below). While Becky was touching me (stage 1) I thought of that little guy, and realized this was exactly the thing he always wanted: loving non-sexual touch that goes on and on. So I sort of invited him to be present and enjoy the moment.

While he was with me I though I'd explore what it was that scared him so much that he wanted to withdraw and let my superego take care of him. The event that came to mind was one I'd remembered all my life, but I think I had depersonalized it. It happened when I was about 5 or maybe 6. Mom had bought hamburgers from Ripples for the family, a rare event as money always seemed tight. Dad wasn't there. I was sitting on the end of the bench against the wall, with Lee and Ross next to me. Kathy was on the far end. I was taking my time eating my burger when Kathy dropped hers on the floor. This misfortune made her cry, so mom reached over and cut away half of my burger and gave it to Kathy. I took this as a huge indignity and protested loudly: why must I make the sacrifice just because I am a slow eater? The other kids left, just me and mom at the table, She was still eating her burger and I demanded it. repeatedly. She slapped it on my plate and said, with as much venom as I'd ever heard from her before or since, "Here. I hope you choke." I was initially pleased, then I processed what it was she said. My mouth went dry, heart started beating furiously, and I tried to eat. You can't eat with no saliva, but she was so mad I tried anyway, and couldn't hardly choke down a mouthful. That's when I realized I probably would choke to death, as mom wanted. That was the trauma. 

After that I ate fast. But mostly I realized I had to keep mom happy. It's a scary thing discovering your mom wants to kill you if you take her food, so I worked hard to keep her happy. It's also a tragic thing when a kid thinks he needs to be attentive to his mom's emotions and feel responsible for them.

Over the next few weeks I guess I decided to protect the real part of me, the alive part, and use the conscious me to stay alive by keeping mom happy. I couldn't take this to my parents because dad was so emotionally distant, and of course I could never again take any problem to mom, or cause her discomfort. There were some scary times early on when I forgot, and unknowingly disappoint her, but she had a belt she'd spank us with to remind us who was most important. And I think she secretly loved the idea of being the queen bee and having the workers serve her.

I guess in the wider world what happened to me is considered a small-t trauma, but it was enough for me to develop a false self to deal with her and to hide my real self so deep that he remained forever a little kid, sitting quietly and patiently for life to happen around him. I forgot he was there for most of my life. It takes a lot of effort to live with a false self.

During our sensate session I comforted him, let him know he had me and Becky watching out for him, and that he could handle anything that came along. I calmed his fear of dying for sticking up for himself. After our sensate session with Becky, which I enjoyed so much, we talked about my experience. I expected the next morning for him to be back in the chair, but he wasn't. He stayed with me. He's still with me.

It's a bit frightening having him here with me, where I can for the first time in my life act on my own. Before I didn't act without considering what effect my actions had on others, because that's all I had to go on. Now I'm independent. I can get angry. I can love. I might have some anger built up at you for all the crap you gave me in the past, which I dutifully accepted. Not any more.

As for mom and dad, I figure they got more devotion out of my false self than any kid owes his parents over a lifetime. We are evened up. I'd give anything now for parents who had some clue that I was in emotional trouble. All I can do now is be that parent to my kids. It sucks to have a mom who keeps saying, "I love you" when you go to school and know she's lying. When I tell my kids I love them, I want to have built up so much trust and sacrifice and honesty and awareness that they know it's true. Because it is. I'm still working on it.

I love you, kids. I love you, Becky.

I haven't worked out yet if the secret attachments to rejection and deprivation are still there. My false self isn't. Gonna be an interesting week.