Sensory Integration

Epiphany in the sauna! Rae and Sarah do a lot of communicating in there, and Rae was telling Sarah how much she appreciated her work with Doug and just her insistence that something needed to be done to figure out a bit of a solution to the the work stress problem. Having 15 minutes of lights out, very quiet time in the middle of the day to breathe and look out the window and feel and watch the stream go by with so many leaves in it, floating and moving, relaxing.....is going to make a huge, positive difference in System Management.

The epiphany was that sensory integration and emotional integration are very, very intimately connected.

Sarah gets easily overwhelmed by both emotions and sensory input. Too much sensory input, and all the energy of the system has to go into overdrive to make sense of it all, as well as determine what input can be dismissed and what input must be addressed and what input is pleasant, dangerous, tolerable, etc. If Sarah has access to too much sensory input, she gets frustrated because everyone else in the system can, for the most part, integrate it quickly and efficiently and move on. She can't. Also, if any of the inputs are potentially dangerous Sarah's frustration quickly becomes rage and then not only is she overwhelmed, the whole system is overwhelmed. To make matters more complicated, if any event has happened (and by event we mean anything from a comment of a co-worker in passing, to a joke over heard, to a touch, to a triggering word...anything) that might potentially be dangerous, Sarah's energy is spent dealing with the overwhelming fear and shame and panic and rage which easily spills into the rest of the system and then the rest of the system has to work to function appropriately under the looming shadow of threat and chaos and disaster.

We don't quite understand this intimate connection of sensory and emotional integration yet, we just know that it's very important to explore both the connection and the role sense plays in the functioning of the system. Dealing with sensory integration does not seem scary or overwhelming, it seems exciting and doable and brings hope to everyone - even Sarah. In fact, suddenly, the system is quite motivated to seek weekly, controlled input and professional help in the form of massage one week, followed by acupuncture another (the dude does some great reiki and burns incense and plays soft music and there is candlelight), followed by the goofy chiro the next week.....

I dreamed last night about this. I dreamed I went to my psychiatrist with this epiphany and explained it to him. He was distant and withdrawn, with dark circles under his eyes. After trying unsuccessfully to connect with him, I asked him if something was wrong. He said "yes" and proceeded to rape me. He couldn't get an erection, so he did it with his fingers, while choking and hitting me in the face.

Fluff Balls, Death, Shame, and Forgiveness

Laying in bed, thinking about my kids, I began to feel stuff. So I continued, since my therapist said I need to feel stuff sometimes. I had fond memories of their childhoods, and fond memories of recent times, and hopeful feelings about their futures. I cried a little, thinking of how close we were and how warm it feels to be close to them. My thoughts moved to family in general, and how I love my family. Dad came to mind, and I missed him and felt sad about his death. I cried some more, all mixed up with loving feelings, sad feelings, and close feelings. Then I thought about Luke and his plans to meet his brother next summer. It's a huge thought, because not only is Luke going to meet a brother he didn't know he had, but he is the one who planned the visit. Here's the hugest part - he will also be seeing his dad who lives a block down from his brother.... a dad he hasn't seen since he was 6. I wondered, as I lay there, if my dad's death so recently was a catalyst for this. Luke had a lot of feelings himself during the days surrounding the funeral. Suddenly, I was overcome with shame as I realized that there were two sides to the story of my resentment harbored from funeral day. I realized that not only was Luke not "there" for me on that day, but I wasn't "there" for him either and he was in his own kind of turmoil. I suppose such a realization might not seem momentous, but for me it was. In a flash I had empathy, understanding, regret, forgiveness, and then FEAR and SHAME. I saw the panic coming, and for a moment even thought that I should try to stop the emotional overload, but then it was upon me and I was drowning under it and I cried and screamed. Luke came into my room and held my hand. I couldn't verbalize what had happened. I still don't understand why it turned to fear and shame and I panicked.

Switch gears with me.

Shortly after my dad died, my little dog of 16 years died. He was an emotional basket case, for the most part. He was nervous all the time. I loved him dearly and enabled his maladjustment. I felt sorry for him. I did not ever expect him to overcome his deep emotional issues (most certainly from abuse - he has always been afraid of men and was abandoned as a pup.) That's how some parts of me perceive other parts of me. With pity.

I have a German Shepherd as well, who came to me only a few years ago. She is stoic and smart and nosy. She and the little dog never bonded closely and remained aloof. I have never quite figured her out, but I know I expect a lot of her. I never planned to love her, she was supposed to be an outside guard dog. She currently is snoring on my couch, and I do love her. I don't feel sorry for her, but rather proud of her as she has moved from home to home which is particularly hard on a Shepherd and yet has bonded with our family and is content. She has overcome much, excelled in her capacity as "dog," and in her declining years continues to do her jobs for me - protecting, grounding, and keeping me company. That's how parts of me feel about parts of me. Proud, with high expectations.

Recently, a new little fluff ball joined the family. He is boisterous, cheerful, wanting to please, smart, funny, adorable, and joyous. He is also resilient. I am amazed at his resiliency. I see it when he is denied something he wants.... he asks, he asks again, he goes for it, and then he accepts the outcome and moves on. He does this all the time. He is intensely interested in a bone, for instance, that the Shep has. I won't let him take it, and in moments he rolls over on his back, runs for a doggie toy, and plays. We spent weeks together this summer, getting to know each other and bonding. When I had to return to work, he stayed with the Shep all day in the entryway of the house. When I got home, he was cheerful, energetic, and loving. He adapted to the routine with little stress. He's so cute and lovable and good natured I am constantly amazed.

At one point I became distraught over a belief that I could never measure up to what this little guy deserved in life. This belief brought on shame. I tried to trace the path of this shame. It's unclear, but goes something like this:

1.He is sweet and innocent and accepting and curious and wonderful.
2. I will never be able to give him the care and love he deserves.
3. What if he doesn't get the care and love he deserves?
4. How could anyone hurt such a sweet little thing?
5. No one is hurting him.
6. He's obviously not hurting because he is so full of joy.
7. He's so full of joy, how can I ever give him the care and love he deserves?
8. I don't deserve such sweetness.
9. He deserves so much more than I can give him.
10. Is he hurting? How would I know?

This is how some parts of me perceive some parts of me. It makes my stomach hurt and it makes me dizzy. I don't understand it, so I have to turn it off.