My thoughts frequently need a "time-out." Like yesterday, in yoga class. It was the middle of the day and I had rushed to get there. I was preoccupied and a little tired. Suddenly, in the middle of some pretzel inspired warrior pose, I began to feel faint. Out of the blue I was sweating and seeing stars. And even more disturbingly, my hearing was muffled – like my ears were stuffed with Berkeley’s finest organic hemp.
So last night in Dialectical Behavioral Therapy group , I filled out the infamous p.162, the “Emotion Regulation Homework Sheet 1 – Observing and Describing Emotions”
Interpretation of Event: I suck. I’m fat. All the other people in class were doing fine so what’s wrong with me? Could I be pregnant? Not likely. Is it lack of sleep, too many carbohydrates? Maybe I’m dying or maybe something is really wrong with me? My husband is going to be upset about this... he worries a lot.
Body Changes: I felt leaden and hot, flushed with embarrassment.
Body Language: I didn’t want to attract any attention to myself or act any different. I wanted to move slowly like nothing was wrong.
Action Urges: My first instinct was not to do anything and just stay in the pose. When that became impossible, I wanted to hide! I wanted to run home and cry and never come back – to dig a hole and crawl in. After a few minutes I realized that I could just faint and see what happens. But that’s the Borderline talking. I didn’t need the paramedics showing up.
What I did: I walked to the back of the room and got a drink of water. Eventually, I just kneeled down. The teacher saw me and came over. I said that I just felt a little faint.
“Remember, you can always rest in child’s pose!” she said. Great, I thought. Now I’m not even resting properly.
After Effect: I was happy that I was able to get my feet back under me and finish the class. I wondered if I should tell my husband and worry him. Most of all, I wanted to go home and lie down. Either that or exercise non-stop until my ass falls off.
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I’ve been in DBT on and off for the last three years. DBT was designed to diminish suicidal ideation and self-destructive behaviors. Developed by Marsha Linehan, it is the first therapy to successfully treat Borderline. DBT combines Zen Buddhism, behavioral science and dialectical philosophy.
+ The Zen practice of meditation opens the mind so you can become more aware of your situation.
+ The dialectical approach takes your multiple, confusing experiences and questions them. The goal is to explain and break things down until they are unbiased observations. It confronts black and white thinking by emphasizing contradictions.
+ Finally organized into clear concepts and ideas, behavioral therapy can reinforce good behaviors and suppress harmful ones.
Unlike traditional psychoanalysis, the method doesn’t deal with the unconscious processes in personality disorders. It doesn’t claim to fix the underlying problem. It merely says that as long as I’m going to have this problem, I might as well learn how to live with it. DBT is packed with behavioral techniques and acronyms to help you recall them in a chaotic moment. As a result, it can have the patina of cultish mind control. I try to focus on the primary goal, to understand my emotions so I can decrease the chaos and suffering that came with confusion.
Yet even when I manage the destructive consequences of the disorder, I’m not in touch with my emotions. I have no idea how I feel about anything. Every Monday morning, my doctor asks me how I feel and each time I have to really think. Either I feel no emotion or all of them at once. All my emotions, even the positive, motivating ones seem scary. This confusion is the catalyst for my painful, overly reactive and frightening mood swings.
In the “Emotional Regulation” part of DBT, you practice observing and becoming alert to thoughts and senses. The idea is to insert a pause; to separate emotions, thoughts, and behaviors. Slowly, you learn that there is a difference between thoughts, your interpretations of them and facts. It takes a while. But with practice, it’s like to turning on the lights. And you stop tripping on all the furniture.
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When I saw my psychiatrist this morning, he said that I must have pinched off blood flow somehow. His expert, clinical advice?
“Don’t do that pose anymore.”
What did I learn from p162? I have to stew for about fifteen minutes before I trust my thoughts when I’m upset. So many times I’ve wanted to dash out of a room, spewing epithets and planning my own demise. Just like a toddler, fifteen minutes of sitting quietly and glaring at the corner seems to do me a world of good.
(note: believe it or not, this chair is actually available for purchase at: http://www.allkidsstuff.com)
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