Living in California, I will never forget what it was like to experience my first earthquake. If there was one thing I could rely on to be steady and solid, it was the Earth beneath my feet.
During the Northridge earthquake, I suddenly found myself surrounded by a terrifying low rumbling which escalated into a roar. I was thrown off balance by the swaying of my house as all the electricity went out and only the serene, untouched Moon was visible.
The terror of experiencing this earthquake evoked a sensation of fear and shock I had never known. When it was over my sense of security and my perception of my environment were permanently changed. Immediately after, the news media assessed the earthquake, gave it a rating, traced the epicenter and reported on the damage and casualties that had incurred.
As humans, we are hard-wired to grasp information and try to make sense out of unexpected traumas and catastrophes. But as I listened to the information pouring in, it did not ease my sense of helplessness when facing the mighty power of Mother Nature.
The aftermath finds us sprouting intellectual verbage as we scramble to get some sense of normalcy back into our lives. Otherwise, life could become about waiting for the next earthquake.
Just like natural catastrophes, emotional catastrophes can have a similar devastating effect. Most people I see in my psychotherapy practice, on an unconscious level, are going through life trying to avoid some catastrophe that they have experienced at an earlier time.
Recently, a patient named Marcy entered therapy, suffering from anxiety and depression. She battled feelings of isolation and helplessness. Her fears of loss restricted her ability to travel and feel comfortable in unfamiliar environments.
Although she yearned for new experiences and more friends, she had difficulty getting beyond her comfort zone. She felt like a prisoner locked in a cell of her own making. Being in new social situations felt so excrutiating for her that she often found herself creating excuses to turn down social invitations. These failed attempts to connect with others left her in a state of frustrated isolation and loneliness.
The beginnings of Marcy's therapeutic relationship were rocky and unstable. She would cancel often and when she did show up she would avoid making contact with me.
Finally after several months, she was able to tolerate her feelings and settle into the therapeutic environment. During treatment it was revealed that when Marcy was five years old, her father had died suddenly in an automobile accident.
Her mother, unable to support Marcy and her two older siblings, was forced to send each child to different relatives. They stayed with the relatives for three years until she was able to regain some financial stability and take them back. During this time, Marcy had little contact with her mother and siblings. The aunt and uncle who she was left with had six children of their own and felt burdened by the responsibility of caring for Marcy.
When Marcy was reunited with her family, her mother could barely recognize the child she had left several years ago. The carefree and happy child she had known was withdrawn and sad. Marcy had problems with sleeping, eating and socializing.
After several months, her initial behavior of detachment around her mother had turned into separation anxiety when her mother tried to leave her.
What happened to Marcy aside from the obvious trauma of being ripped apart from the family she had known and thrown into a hostile environment?
Marcy's reliance on dependability had never developed. Her trauma which she had stored inside her at a very early age was one that gave her the belief that nothing is secure and dependable and she cannot rely on any form of safety and security for very long because lurking in the background was the catastrophe of loss and separation. This dread permeated Marcy's life. She viewed all situations through those terrified eyes and was never able to find satisfaction and security in any area of her life.
Reliability of the familiar is what we base our entire internal emotional development on.
The rocking of a baby, the soothing songs one sings to it, the familiar smell of the mother, the feeding cycles are all ways in which the baby's terror of being out of the comforting womb can be tolerated. When that container, holding space, outside structure is not in place, a person cannot focus on the tasks they need in order to start and continue their emotional development. Although it may seem complex, it is surprisingly simple.
We need to know that the security of being loved and cared for is reliable or it causes internal chaos and distraction from our emotional growth process.
Through therapy, Marcy was able to understand this dread that she had carried around for so many years. She learned the purpose of its formation, to protect her mentally from the fear and pain of loss.
Although her defenses as a child had preserved her, they were now keeping her from connecting with others. This information allowed her to understand that the catastrophe which she was now guarding against had already happened to her. Knowing this gave Marcy some relief, as well as tools in dealing with the here and now.
Although automatic feelings of fear and loss would arise, she had enough mental space not to act on them.
So in essence, it looked like this: she would meet someone she was interested in and then at the same time would get thoughts and feelings of losing them. When she became aware of these feelings, she was able to recognize them, understand why they were surfacing and acknowledge to herself that she was no longer the little girl who was abandoned, but an adult who was well equipped to take care of herself.
Catastrophes that stay hidden inside of us have power over our behavior. It is when we confront them, understand them and think about them that we can take back some sense of control in our lives.