The little boy underneath the surface

This one feels vulnerable to write, but it’s also something I’d like to share, so here goes.

It’s been a year of big emotions and big changes. In January, I was still happily in a long-term committed relationship. By the end of August, we’d broken up, but that change did not come overnight.

There were months of arguments, counselling, working to come back together, and feelings. Lots and lots of feelings.

I won’t write about the specifics of the break-up, since I feel that is something that should remain between my former partner and me. It’s not my story to tell by myself.

What I do want to share, is some of my emotional journey in the past months, and how I dealt with my anxiety and fear.

I’ve written a little about self-trance before, how I tried the same induction on myself that I would try on others, and found that I could let myself sink into trance as well. At first, I mostly appreciated it for the sense of calm and serenity, but I soon noticed another effect.

I’ve always had a hard time reaching my emotions. They tend to reside pretty deep down in my psyche, kept in place by a thick layer of rationalisation. The thing I noticed about self-trance: it lets me sink underneath that layer.

All of a sudden, my feelings are much more immediate and clear, yet at the same time they lack that sense of intense urgency that anxiety often brings. I was able to see the underlying fears.

Now, in many ways I know what I’m afraid of. I’m scared of being abandoned or rejected, of not being good enough, not measuring up. I know these things from my past therapy. Still, knowing is not the same as feeling, and putting myself in this more receptive state helped to see much more clearly.

But then I tried something else.

Part of my therapy had been imaginary exposure, where you go back into past situations, and step in. Once I started learning about hypno and did self-trance, I noticed how very similar the experiences felt. So, I decided to try something.

I laid down on my couch, got comfortable and let myself sink deeply. And then, I pictured a little boy with bright blue eyes and strawberry-blonde hair. Me, aged somewhere between 6 and 8.

I sat down next to him, put an arm around his shoulders, and ruffled his hair. He smiled at me, but his eyes were filled with sadness. So, I started talking. I told him all the things I knew he needed to hear. How I saw him trying, that he was brave, how well he was doing. I took all my Daddy energy that I usually give to my partners, and poured it into that scared and lonely little boy.

I fucking broke.

I don’t know how long I cried, but I sobbed my heart out. Hearing these words, even though I knew they came from me: in that moment they came from a father figure (adult me) to the child that needed them so dearly.

When the sobbing subsided, I felt lighter and a little more healed. I was a little puzzled that me just lying on my couch with my eyes closed, imagining things … that it could feel this intense, this healing, but it did.

I still regularly talk to that little boy. He still gets scared, but his eyes are happier now. Small steps.