I haven’t wanted to be part of the technological age. Mostly because I haven’t wanted to be part of the world at all. It’s changing though. Now I want people in my life, I want to communicate with people all over the world. But I’m terrified of computer and internet technology.
Yesterday I found I’d got a virus from the internet café the day before. The kid who worked there said it could have destroyed all the info on my computer at home. TERROR. All my scripts, my books, everything. Gone. Maybe. The kid innocently added that if I lost everything, I’d also have to re-install all my software. Just bring it in to the tech here, he said, it’s not a big deal.
It is a big deal if you don’t have money to pay for it. I felt the nightmare envelope me. The kid cleaned my flashdrive, and I hadn’t lost anything so I posted my blog. But my day had turned bleak. I walked back along the beach, angry.
The ocean was calm as a lake, beautiful. But I couldn’t take it in. I want this to stop, I want to stop being so vulnerable, and always at the edge. I can’t take this any more. The thought of going home and starting up my computer to find that the virus had transferred was intolerable.
I was in the hands of an inner critic that makes everything Armageddon. But gradually my newer way of looking at life and at me kicked in. The nurturing parent. It’s going to be okay, there’ll be a solution, you don’t have to worry about, it’ll be there. You’re not going to be punished. It’s going to work out fine. You can enjoy the beach and how beautiful it is.
I was able to say I’m not going to think about it any more today. I don’t need to write tonight, I can watch TV and then go to bed and read my book. Tomorrow I’ll switch on my computer, and deal with whatever it is. I settled right down. Stepped out of history in that moment. The day turned into early evening, it was so beautiful. Big cumulous clouds came alive as the sun began to set, reflecting in the ocean-lake. Calm. Mountains on the far side of the bay pale delicate blue. It filled my heart. I was happy. I’m okay. Everything’s okay and it’s going to be okay later, and tomorrow.
And it was okay. I got home, had supper, watched re-runs of Will and Grace and the Guardian, then David Letterman. Then I went to bed, read my book and slept well. Safe in my world. Because I was able to shift from being controlled by my history into being enabled in my present.
Small things still turn my world upside down and rubber-band me back to childhood, when everything kept going wrong, when I had no protection, when I was subjected to abuse. I’ve always been aware of my fear, but not to the extent that I am now. In the past, I’d notice and categorize it, but was powerless to change anything. My fear was like a cancer growing in me.
These days I’m doing it differently, listening to the part of me that is still a child and trapped in childhood experiences. I’m paying attention, not dismissing myself. I’m meeting my needs, being the mother my own mother couldn’t be. I can feel that the cancer of my fear has stopped growing. I can make the choice to listen to the internalized parenting from my distant past or to the newer one from my more recent past – therapy. I’m building a new history, changing the hard-wiring.
I’ve been so conscious today of my therapeutic experience over the past ten years, which has been a place of absolute safety, sane teaching and unconditional love, where I learn I have value, entitlement, prospect, that I’m more than my past, that much as my past has imprinted itself upon me I can heal from it and forge a new, sustainable reality for myself. A place where I’ve been able to access everything that I craved as a child but could never get. How fortunate is that.
My life used to be a nightmare but it’s different now. I’m finding solutions, and protection. I’m more empowered. I have a past, and a present now. In my past, who I really was and my spirit, we were in hiding. In my present we’re coming out.