A post-psychotherapy session self-analysis

I had a session with Marzena, my psychologist, today. I thought I had got quite a few thought-provoking ideas, and felt it would be nice to write those somewhere so that I could go through these at will later, when troubled in future and needing help.

When I first entered, Marzena said- “You’ve had a haircut”; I assented, and she complimented me, saying it looked beautiful. I sadly said that my mother was not happy with it, but anyway, nothing would really please her unless my hair was long- I had accepted that years ago… and that my sister said previous haircuts that framed my face suited me more. Marzena was asking whether I myself was happy with my hair… to which I replied that I liked it- but I was never really happy looking at myself in the mirror. Marzena asked if I didn’t think it was polite to tell people their cut is nice even if you felt it was better earlier… and I tried to explain that this is not how it works in the Indian society- politeness is reserved for people who do not matter too much, and usually, for really close friends and relatives, we are expect to give (and receive) genuine comments… it is not unkind, it is just the culture. I would not want or expect my sister to lie to make me feel good.

I was quite distressed about my disagreement with Didivai yesterday, and this was the main topic of conversation today. I should have noted it down yesterday, but procrastinated, so, here I am, filling up my thought diary (with suggestions and ideas from Marzena as well in it).

SITUATION (What were you doing, or what was happening)

Didivai (my sister) was having a conversation with Ma (my mother)- a daily routine over her morning tea- it is 7 am for her and about 9:30 am for Ma. Ma really looks forward to this time as she is lonely and starved for company and conversation quite often. Today, the topic was Geetuma (my aunt)- her misfortunes, how she feels unwanted and unloved where she is staying now, how she is planning to shift to her elder daughter-in-law’s house, but is scared of her DIL’s sudden tantrums when she says innocent things such as “Why are you working so hard, getting up early and cooking, and torturing your daughter rice in the morning, trying to feed her rice, when she would love a sandwich instead?” I was trying to explain some Math to my son who was not listening and being as naughty as possible at this time- I got very annoyed and took the phone and shouted “Why can’t these old people just keep their mouths shut and let their DILs decide what to feed their daughters without their unwelcome interference and suggestions?” Didivai replied that she always thought that old people do, and should, comment and advise their next generations.

Now this irked me, as it was not really true. Didivai has got irritated many times when Ma kept giving suggestions and reminders all the time, similarly, in the past, when her mother-in-law and sisters-in-law kept advising her on how to handle her daughter, her tantrums, her education etc. I understand that Didivai was a very understanding and kind person who never spoke out and always adjusted, thinking of the other person, but that didn’t mean that she Liked the interference. Anyway, the phone call finished, my son was still refusing to do his Math, and I kept simmering in rage -“How can Didivai lie so blatantly!” and wrote a few messages on Whatsapp- beseeching her not to reply- but I saw her “typing” a reply, so I exited the groups that had both of us and blocked her.

 

FEELINGS Specify: e.g. mad, sad, glad, scared, surprised, disgusted.  Rate Feeling: 0-100

1) Mad                                                                         Rating: 80

2) Disgusted                                                                Rating: 60

 

AUTOMATIC THOUGHTS What was going thru your mind just before feeling (See if you can have a thought correspond with each feeling) 

1)      Angry. Didivai is lying to me, she is horrible. Black and white thinking

2)      Disappointed. Didivai thinks I don’t listen to old people. Emotional reasoning.

3)      Sad. Didivai thinks I am selfish. Jumping to conclusions.

4)      Angry. Didivai hates me, I hate her, and I will never talk to Didivai again in my life. Catastrophising.

 

EVIDENCE That Automatic Thought IS TRUE

1) I have heard her complain about Ma, her MIL and SIL- about their constant advice- many times before.

2) She said that “SHE” does not mind people saying things, thus implying that I don’t.

3) No evidence. ☹

4) No evidence. ☹

 

EVIDENCE That Automatic Thought is NOT 100% TRUE

1) She has never been horrible or a pathological liar in the last 45 years that I have known her.

2) She never mentioned my name even once in the conversation.

3) She has never said I am selfish- ever. At least not unless we are fighting.

4) We have fought millions of times, and NEVER stopped talking.

 

MORE BALANCED THOUGHTS (combine Evidence from prior two boxes)

1)    She is a human being, not perfect. She is missing Ma, her MIL is dead, her SIL is a widow and she feels bad for her, and she has always liked her frankness anyway… and so, she has forgotten their bad things, and remembers just the good things.

2)    Didivai has not mentioned me at all in the conversation. It involved totally other people. There is no reason that she should suddenly pass snide remarks.

3)    This too, shall pass, just like our million other fights. Because we love each other, and nothing changes that.

 

RE-RATE FEELINGS NOW 0-100

1) Mad                                                                         Rating: 0

2) Disgusted                                                                Rating: 0

Subsequently, I told Marzena that Didivai talks nonsense all the time but I don’t care much- what bothered me much more was that Dadavai agreed with her. Marzena was trying to suggest that a husband will obviously support a wife, but I said that this was not how it works in our family- and Dadavai would not necessarily support Didivai just because she is his wife if he did not believe I was wrong and she was right. 

Recently, I feel he has been liking me less and less. The first time was also after a fight with Didivai. He said that to console a person, you needed empathy first (I have forgotten the other two steps; note- need to ask and remember). That time also, he agreed with Didivai. And now also, he said that Indian culture is known for everyone caring for a kid, not just the parents… even neighbours cared for and admonish kids.

 

Marzena’s questions:

1.     Does having a different opinion mean he does not love you?

2.     Don’t you think migrants always face this? – two different societies, two sets of expectations…?

3.     Don’t you think even in India things might have changed, that women are speaking up, that daughters-in-law want more independence and nobody would tolerate a neighbour spanking a kid?

I think there are good and bad aspects of everything. Change is inevitable. It is the only truth. My lesson: Do not vocalize without thinking- is this the best way to express this disagreement? Do not type things immediately.

 

My problem: Sometimes I feel I'll die just trying to adjust. I get depressed if I think the old way, my parents' way- so I have learnt to embrace newer ideas, newer methods of parenting- then I feel I am selfish, that there is a big chasm between me and everyone else.

 

 

Kajari, remember when you forget.

Why do we fall so utterly in love with certain books, that as we read them, we feel as though we are living each word, and not just perusing through the pages? Why is it that certain books strike a chord so deep within us that we lose ourselves in them? Why is it so reassuring and comforting to know that books such as Exodus, Pather Panchaali, Anne of Green Gables, Oranges are not the only fruit, Siddhartha, Gone with the wind, To kill a Mockingbird, The boy in striped pajamas, Man's search for meaning, Pratham Pratishruti, Oliver Twist, Crime and Punishment, The book thief, and many, many more of my well-loved books will always be there in my heart for me whenever I feel alone, that nothing and nobody can take them away from me?

I have just finished reading a book "The choice" by Dr Edith Eger, a holocaust survivor who went on to get a PhD in psychology and change hundreds of lives with her compassion and wisdom.  I was so overwhelmed by the 570 page book that I forgot myself and everything else, and read it literally without pausing for breath for the last 24 hours while flying from Kolkata to Perth... I was in a trance and could not put the book down till I reached its final cover, though I was exhausted.

Was it the contents of this book, or the way it is written, or the state of my mind when I read it that is responsible for this pleasant trance state? Listening to a beautiful song or looking at a beautiful sunset or losing myself in a book is the closest I have ever felt to God... to my soul... to inner peace.  It is the same peace I sought, but never found, while crocheting all our family photos into a single tapestry, a single work of art that would last forever... as if it would somehow immortalize the members of our family together,  somehow stalling my father's swift and inevitable decline, his impending death.

Dr Eger says, as numerous other wise people have done before her, that we cannot change the events in our life, but it is OUR CHOICE as to how we react to them. I love Dr Eger and what she represents, I love her indomitable courage and infinite patience, I love her attitude to suffering and life, I love the fact that she traversed the barriers of distance and time through the sheer power of her words to touch my innermost core. 

I take a pledge today. I choose to be happy, to be kind, to forgive myself. I relinquish myself of my overwhelming burden of guilt- guilt to my beloved friend Murali for being alive while he is dead, guilt to my father for not being good enough and not working hard enough ever, guilt to my mother for not being the daughter she wanted (long haired, singer, traditionally dressed, obedient), guilt to my ex-husband for not trying hard enough to preserve that doomed marriage, guilt to my sister for not taking care of our ailing parents and for forever torturing her and never doing anything good for her, guilt to my brother-in-law for being rude to him and again, just taking from him and never giving anything back, guilt to my father-in-law for not being caring and traditional enough, guilt to my niece for being selfish and self- centered, guilt to my kids for not being a good mother the way my mother was to me, and finally, my accumulated guilt to my husband- for trapping him into a lifelong relationship at a time when he was helpless over his mother's sickness- for lacking the skills and the desire to make a beautiful, clean home and garden and delicious meals for him, for giving in to depression and making his otherwise happy life hell.

I acknowledge my feelings. Some of them may be true, but I realize that a lot of the burden I carry is probably unfounded. I accept myself though I am not slim enough and smart enough and beautiful enough and good enough and studious enough and successful enough and though lacking in memory, in homemaking and cooking skills. I accept myself as I am. I realize that again, a lot of my faults are products of my own relentlessly critical mind. I understand that a large part of my constant self-criticism can be traced back to the expectations from me during my early years - but again, I realize that it was done out of love, that might have been misguided, and with my best interests at heart... I forgive my parents for any failures in my upbringing, and beg forgiveness from my children in their future, for any deficiencies in theirs.  I give myself permission to be alive, to rejoice in the lovely family that I have and the lovely world that I live in.  I accept that I have faults and embrace them- but I promise never to undermine my virtues, my strengths, my desires, my inner core. I forgive myself. I forgive myself. I forgive myself.

May I never forget these words, these feelings..  Amen.

An apology

Dear Pia,

I believe I owe everyone in this group and the LGBT community an apology. My only interaction with them so far was opening our front door to some horribly dressed and crazily made-up people who came home, in Ranchi, to collect money after you were born whom I found utterly repulsive- I was 11 then, and impressionable, and developed a loathing for them in general, refusing to read any literature or watch any movies about them. My second interaction was trying to watch Deepa Mehta’s “Fire”, and I hated it, and stopped watching halfway.

I hated them so much that I intensely detested anyone who reminded me of them as well- an example was my not liking Ishqia, because I absolutely cannot stand men wearing Kajal- I know it is crazy- but that was (I think) the reason. I did not like your wedding album, Pia, I couldn’t bear to look at two men in coats marrying each other- I hated the fact that there were children at that wedding- innocent children exposed to these sexual deviations at a young impressionable age-and scared and angry that my kids will be too, during their compulsory “sex education” classes.

I decided after our disagreement that I needed to read more before judging anyone. I chose lesbianism because a female point of view might make more sense. I searched on Google and found a few books- and chose “Oranges are not the only fruit” by Jeanette Winterson, which won the Whitbread award for a first novel, was made into a television serial, a BBC Radio drama and also released as an audiobook, and was highly acclaimed critically. In England and Wales, it has been included in A-level curricula, and it seemed like a good place to begin my exploration.

I finished my assignment and stole some time away before my examination. (Is time an entity that can be stolen?- half my life I seem to be feeling guilty for stealing it- who does it actually belong to?) I borrowed the e-book from the library and started it, wondering whether I would be able to finish it.

I forgot all about finishing it and everything else for the next few hours- it was too beautiful a book to be put down- a semi-autographical novel, partly dark, partly fiction, partly imagination, partly true, partly mythology- written in an inimitable style by a strong woman, who, incidentally, felt attracted to women- but that had nothing to do with the rest of her.

I loved the author from the first page- loved her for her voracious reading habits, her powerful thinking, her superb command of English, her beautiful writing, her feminism… and surprisingly for me, did not give a whit as to whom she is attracted to! And understood some of the possible causes of her lesbianism- she has read Freud and Jung and a million other psychology books and has spent most of her life trying to understand herself- and her research is illuminating…

I finished it and realized I couldn’t stop here, because I simply HAD to read her memoirs –“Why be happy when you could be normal”. So I stole some more time, borrowed another e-book, lost some more sleep and finished it just now in the hospital. It was mind-blowing- similar to nothing I have ever read so far in my life.

I pay my homage to anyone who can write like that: the last two days, I felt what she felt- I WAS her while I was reading the book- and I understood her completely. I shall not have reservations against the LGBT community again- and more importantly, I shall try to look deeper and research more and get rid of any other ignorance-based prejudices I might have.

I saw your album again, Pia, and this time, when I could actually open my eyes and look at it without my goggles of prejudice, it is indeed breathtakingly beautiful!

Love
Mousie

Musings at dawn after a busy night duty in the hospital

Early morning today, when the sky was still dark,
Much before the singing of the crow and the lark-
I ran to the hospital really fast, to thump
On a patient's chest, whose heart wouldn't pump...
The patient did live and he breathed again
A challenge against death- fought well and won...

As I walked out, the trees looked dark and tall...
In this majestic formidable world, I suddenly felt small...
Death will come ultimately at every life's end-
Then why struggle so much, why try to fend
That inevitable finality off as long as we can
Why do I fight death daily, what do I gain?

Then the answer came- "Life is beautiful"
Saving that patient's today made mine useful
He alive, may do hundreds of good deeds
And those might be just what the world needs...
Being alive is great, to look at the rising sun
And to thank the Almighty for all He has done...

Thank You for creating the stars so bright
That melt away so beautifully into the morning light
Thanks for giving me everything I could ever want
Thank You for love, beauty, music, wisdom and warmth
Please bless my children: Your children, to be accurate
With beautiful souls, truth, knowledge and contentment!

My house of dreams

We are moving to Perth next year. It is nice to look forward to new dreams and new aspirations- but then, I'll never forget Adelaide. I have spent many a happy hour looking at the tree lined street from our dining room, which becomes completely white with flowers each spring- the street leading into the unknown lands of myriad fairy tales, where anything might be possible, where princesses and gnomes live happily together amidst bubbling brooks and green meadows. From the first moment I cast my eyes on this house on a cold June morning 3 years ago, this has been the house of my dreams. I have laughed and cried here, I have read many a beautiful book and shed tears over the characters that have come alive as I turn its pages, I have had moments of unforgettable beauty and love, I have got to know all the quirks, thoughts and aspirations of the person I am so lucky to have in my life, I have gone for many a dreamy walk in this beautiful place, I have studied hard and passed the Australian Anaesthesia final exam.  I have had my baby here- who is the sweetest, most perfect thing I ever beheld, even during my postpartum blues and her childish tantrums. I have often wondered what I have done to deserve all this. A song from "The Sound of Music" probably expresses it the best- "Somewhere in my youth, or childhood, I MUST have done something good!" Thank you, dear God, and may the next phase of our lives filled with as much love and beauty as this one.

A beautiful moment, and a prayer

I was driving down South Road yesterday at about 11:00 am in the morning (my hospital shift would start at midday). The day was cloudy, when all of a sudden, the sun broke through the clouds- it was a golden bonanza all around; a feast for the eyes and for the heart. I went into a side street, parked the car, got out, and inhaled deeply to let the beauty seep into me... This is life, this is beauty, this is the honeymoon I always dreamed of- the honeymoon that has lasted the past 34 years... I just prayed to God to let it be everlasting!

A lot of thoughts flashed through my mind then. The excitement about my new travel coffee mug (in which I am going to put my morning milk and sip it on the way to work), and my new folder (in which I have arranged my “beautiful” notes so systematically)... The fact that I am supremely happy... The fact that I love my life so well, that I wouldn’t change a single bit for a million dollars...

When a friend said “you usually look back at crossroads in life and regret your decisions”, generalizing the statement, I felt so glad because I had never had the occasion to look back till now! I decided to marry my husband within a fraction of a second when I saw his worried face in the middle of a busy road- that decision changed my life, and each moment since has been golden... I decided to go to JIPMER, and later, Delhi, on the spur of the moment, and spent lovely times in both these places... There are some things about my life that others think were unfair to me- but I am glad all that happened to me-I have taken what I liked all my life, made my own decisions, and I wouldn’t change a single thing if I could- each bad thing has had its own purpose!

I know this wonderful phase of my life is not permanent, because duty calls elsewhere. I belong to a poor country with millions of needy patients who can’t afford to pay for their medications- even if I anaesthetize a single patient a month for free, I would contribute a bit. The women in my country are downtrodden and ill-treated- I would like to do something for them as well. And there are our parents- getting older every day... I just need a small house with two rooms in which we three will live happily- it will be hard work, but then, it will be worth it, if my Gooby grows up into a girl with a beautiful mind- if she is studious, and good-natured, and GOOD. And I’ll practice beautiful anaesthesia, give some nice nerve blocks, do some paediatric and difficult cases, and my patients will wake up beautifully after surgery. And Soumya- he’ll be the same darling he always has been, unchanged, fiddling around with computers and cells and tablets and games... growing old yet staying young in mind... never a mean thought, never a bad word for anyone... getting scolded everyday for being disorganised, yet never getting angry... And then, someday, our Gooby would be grown up enough to leave her shelter and fly away from her nest- she’ll find her calling, eventually she’ll find her soulmate too... and life will continue, and we shall grow old together... and someday, when I die, I’ll have wrinkles on my face and my hair shall be gray, yet my face shall look radiant and my lips would have a smile, as my thoughts all my life would have been pure and happy...

This is the way I want my life to be, and this is the life I prayed for when I got out of my car yesterday and looked up at the sun shining through the clouds...and I saw God smile down on my upturned face, or maybe it was my imagination... But I did feel the warm sun shining on me as I got back into my car and drove to work- and that was real, and that was enough to make me smile.

I love reading

I love reading. The stuff I read is not profound or scientific- I like reading about fantasy and love, about innocence and childhood, I like romances and spy thrillers… I like almost everything! Some of my all-time favoutites are Exodus and Gone with the wind, the Anne of Green Gables series and Polyanna, Ayn Rand and Thornbirds. I love the Enid Blyton books, especially those about Mallory towers and St Clare's... I love Hary Potter, I love the trilogy of the Rings. I have often spent hours being Oliver Twist in my imagination, wasted hours of study time wondering how exactly it would feel to slowly fall down the rabbit hole as Alice... I have hated watching beautifully made movies based on books I love, just because they do not conform to my avid imagination, my preconceived ideas... I have survived on a lonely island as Robinson Crusoe, I have been kissed on the lips by Snow White's dream prince, I have shut myself up in my room for hours and cried when Ari Ben Canaan breaks down in Exodus. I have trembled with silent fury at the injustice meted out to women after spending a few hours with SharatChandra and Premchand. I have read Siddhartha and felt chords vibrate inside me that I didn't know existed. Tagore made me lose myself in the sunset, in the clouds, in the eternal beauty of nature. Shakespeare made me crave to meet my Romeo, to die for him. I have been Elizabeth and wept over Darcy's haughtiness, I have been Jane and felt my heart break, I have been Raskolnikov and wandered around the streets of Moscow totally drunk, punishing myself for my own crime...I have thanked God for having been born after Agatha Christie -some of my best moments have been spent poring over Miss Marple and Poirot, trying to solve those murders myself. I have wanted to be a parent to my child like Atticus was to Scout...I have laughed and cried, sang and danced, lived and died with the characters in my books… I have seen the world though a beautiful window created by my books... Thank you, God, for giving me eyes and the ability to read.