Self-analysis: What happens when treatment is over?

It must happen. Finally, Treatment– or not Cognitive behaviorpsychoanalysis, or something in between, comes near the end. Then you are yourself: you need to understand what you are feeling and what you need to do about it, especially when your feelings get dark, for yourself, for yourself and yourself.

Hopefully you have the voice of your therapist in your head. It may have begun to sound like you are. Perhaps if everything went well, you’ve learned that is enough to deal with your problem when it arises. And they will. Inevitably.

Treatment can be transformative. Psychoanalysis It was for me. But therapy won’t magically drive away the pain and anger you bring there, fear, Self-loathing, depression, Invasion, anxietyor any of many other emotions that may have caused it. In my experience, therapy reduces that pain by arming you by understanding, providing support and identifying resources that once overwhelmingly reduce power. After that, you can continue the process… yourself.

By the end of my nearly ten years of psychoanalysis, I couldn’t wait to do it. Just as I relied on an analyst, I was ready to move on. There is something exhilarating about being in yourself without the constant commentator of your life, even if there is no intermediary between you and the world.

My previous fears were reduced to “general misfortune” and to use the task was not so difficult FreudFormulation of. For over a year, I returned to health and felt like a wounded bird thrown into the air for flight. And I did until my friend Michael suddenly passed away. That’s when you realize that floating requires continuous self-analysis.

The feeling of numbness in the first few months after Michael’s death seemed quite normal. But a little later I felt confused as I was. I spoke to him just two weeks before the heart attack that killed him, but I didn’t even see Michael in a year.

I spent my time sifting through his memories and started to see how we were more family than friends. It may be because we met before we turned 20 and found the security and support we needed for each other. We shared the way we were secretly vague with the social classes that have risen through academia. I shared a secret. We really knew each other. You don’t know what you need to talk about.

Without him, I would have suddenly felt unfairly alone. I began to sink into devastation. It’s a familiar ghostly feeling I brought to an analyst. But now I knew she was pointing out a certain lifetime pattern of attachment that I considered rescue. That was when I met Michael and for years he ran in twice to “save” me. But I didn’t need to save anymore.

This was where self-analysis took me. When I got there, the desolation had broken up and I met up with me. sorrow By losing Michael. That’s not all.

Given my treatment, self-analysis for me means going back to the origins of my emotions and understanding and contain them when they threaten to sink me into depression. But what I wasn’t prepared for is that I need to bring self-analysis to endure not only the serious difficulties of life, but the insignificant things that are thought to be difficult at first glance.

Recently my husband and I have started adopting dogs when rescuers change their minds. I was crushed, and anything that was crushing me was not to be reasoned. By the third day of mismatch, especially when compared to my husband’s “Who cares? There are other orphans,” I stopped fighting emotions and looked into it with a method of treatment.

I felt so upset that I didn’t have any empathy for myself that the analyst would have had for me. But I remained in this process until an image illuminated my brain came from the edge of my mind. She said I could come, but it was mine, 4 years old, standing at the door of a girl in the girl who didn’t let me play. that Memory He appeared in my analysis multiple times, portraying that his mother was not there or that he was not equipped to “improve it.”

My first reaction was Not this. My second was to see the original rejection and the relationship between those who enthusiastically invited us to adopt a dog and then refused. That in itself, Childhood The refusal was minor. However, in therapy I learned to express how much I felt in my family.

Now I can see how this truly insignificant rejection brought me back to that pain memory. When I made the connection, I quickly became myself again. And I had arrived there myself.

My specific self-analysis is an adaptation of psychoanalytic thinking that I have learned to do with the type of treatment I have chosen. That works for me (I tried other treatments that weren’t). Now I was so integrated with my direction into life that its premise is woven into almost every single one of my reactions to difficulties, losses and darkness. Now I’m dependent on it. I think continuous self-analysis is a way to keep me feeling safe in my life.