See me don't see me
I managed to fall off my bike recently. I was firstly struck by the gravel, then I was struck by the kindness of strangers. Strangers who stopped to call an ambulance, strangers who took me into their home and gave me a cup of tea and strangers who eventually drove me home.
When I fell, I recall rocking in pain on the floor. I recall thinking how do I get back on my bike. As if getting back on my bike would remove the awfulness of what I was feeling. The woman who stopped just put her hand on my arm "have you got a phone, can I call someone for you". She slowed me down and helped me to stay still.
As people gave me their support, I was tempted to move into a narrative of how stupid I was to fall. I think I was embarrassed to be in need of others help. As much I was appreciating their help, there was a part of me embarrassed to be needing their help. I don't like feeling embarrassed, it feels inferior and weak. My emotional world tried to turn to something that could regain a bit of control or sense of power. I think I was tempted to turn that embarrassment into anger. Anger is often a move to try to regain control. Of course my internal social rules would not allow me to get angry at people around me (in this situation) so I started to turn that anger against myself. Telling myself how stupid I was, I should have been more careful etc. Anger tends to feel more powerful and assertive than the shrinking feeling of embarrassment.
The strangers around me were gentle and let me know I didn't do anything wrong. They helped me sit with my embarrassment. My appreciation of them was a far better solution to my embarrassment than anger to myself could have been.
Reflections: In my human state I often want to turn away from pain. The physical pain I wanted to ride away from, the emotional pain of embarrassment I wanted to anger myself away from. In both states I needed others to help stay with the pain and learn I could tolerate it.
A few days later, I was re-bandaging my hand. My son walked in. "Can I see, can I see" his curious expectant face. "it's ugly and remember I have a tough body that is fixing itself". But he was insistent. I showed my hand, "I never want to see that again" he said. I gave him a hug and let him know that's ok and I will be ok.
My son's curiosity was the same as mine. I was partly rebandaging to stop infection but I also wanted to see the wound. In seeing it we both wanted to turn away from it. The Hitchcock classic vertigo plays on this human tension, the characters continually turn to face the very thing they fear and are fleeing, only to turn and flee once more.
Reflections: See me, don't see me. In psychotherapy this movement of wanting to be seen, then wanting to hide is frequently played out. In understanding and articulating these movements in therapy, we often become better adapted to communicating our needs in our wider relationships.
Interesting references on some of the above points: Winnicot wrote of children playing hide and seek, "to be hidden is a joy, to not be found a disaster".
A good read on some of these themes is "On kissing, tickling and being bored" by Adam Phillips.
