While yearning to “like” ourselves, the disowning of traumatic experiences or the vulnerable, ashamed, angry, or depressed parts holding implicit memories of those experiences results in a profound alienation from self: “I don’t know myself, but one thing is clear: I don’t like myself.” The ability to be compassionate or comforting or curious with others, which comes so easily to many trauma survivors, is not matched by the ability to offer themselves the same kindness. What it took to survive has created a bind. It was adaptive “then” to avoid comfort or self-compassion, to shame and self-judge before attachment figures could find them lacking, but now it has come to feel believable that others deserve or belong or are worth more – while, at the same time, it also feels that these “others” are not to be trusted; they are dangerous or uncaring.

It is a well-accepted premise that, to feel safe in any relationship, human beings need compassion both for themselves and for the other. Internal attachment bonds or “earned secure attachment” (Seigel, 1999) give us emotional resilience. The internalization of secure attachment allows individuals to tolerate hurt, loneliness, anxiety, disappointment, frustration, and rejection – all the risks inherent in any close relationship. But in order to unconditionally accept ourselves and “earn” that resilience, we need to develop a relationship to all of us: to our wounded and needy parts, to the parts hostile to vulnerability, to the parts that survived by distancing and denial – to the parts we love, the parts we hate, and even the parts that intimidate us.

Embedded in most methods of psychotherapy is the belief that “healing” is the outcome of a relational process: that if we are wounded in an unsafe relationship, the wounds must heal in a context of relational safety. But what if the quality of our internal attachment bonds, rather than our interpersonal attachments, is a more powerful determinant of our ability to feel safe? What if attachment to ourselves is a bigger contributor to the sense of wellbeing than the attachment we feel to and from others? What if being witnessed as we recall painful events does not heal the injuries caused by those experiences? And what if compassion for the child who lived through these events is more important than knowing the details of what happened? If that is so, and I believe it is, then trauma treatment must focus less on painful and traumatic events and more on cultivating compassion for our disowned selves and their painful experiences. When all parts of us feel internally connected and held lovingly inside, each can experience feeling safe, welcome, and worthy, often for the first time. The first step is to become curious about this “other” inside whom we do not really know.

Healing the Fragmented Selves of Trauma Survivors by Janina Fisher

Quirks: How Else My Brain Is Different

(p.68) The more time I spend reading and writing about what it means to be autistic, the more I discover seemingly random traits that are shared by many autistic people. Some of these so-called “quirks” are directly caused by well-known autistic tendencies. Others overlap with autism so often that the connection has been researched, even if it isn’t listed in the DSM. Others seem unconnected to autism at first glance, if they’re even connected at all…still, when I describe these experiences, they seem to elicit strong reactions from autistic people who feel the same. So as you read this chapter – and other chapters too, but especially this one – remember that many autistic experiences differ from mine, but also that I’m also far from alone.

INERTIA

(p.68) I often feel some form of inertia – mental, physical, or both. In the scientific sense, inertia means that an object keeps doing what it’s doing, either moving or resting, until an external force causes it to change. In the human sense, inertia also means a natural drive to continue…this experience of inertia would explain the “preference for sameness” listed in the diagnostic criteria for autism. But sometimes, inertia isn’t my preference at all. It makes housework very difficult, because that requires me to constantly shift attention from one small task to another. As with inertia in the scientific sense, external intervention helps – the company of another human does wonders to prompt and encourage me.

MENTAL MODES

(p.69) I feel like my brain has two settings, which I call “flexible mode” and “safe mode.” I can usually choose which one I want to be in, though it takes some time to switch back and forth. Both have pros and cons…flexible mode means I’m prepared for surprises and interruptions. I know they can come at any moment, so I stay alert. And when they happen, I can handle them. Safe mode means I’m able to focus without fear of interruption. I feel protected, because I know that if I begin a complex thought process it won’t get cut off…the problem with flexible mode is that it doesn’t allow me to think very deeply, or do the kind of work I find most meaningful. It also takes a lot of energy, and creates physical tension in my body. The problem with safe mode is that it makes me more vulnerable. If something breaks my concentration, it’s extra upsetting… everything feels easier if I’m ready for it, but the hard part is remaining ready.

EYE CONTACT

(p.70) Many autistics find eye contact painful. I usually don’t. It’s the multitasking that gets to me. I can only do two of these things at once: look, listen, plan…. For every moment I spend maintaining the commonly accepted amount of eye contact – not too much, not too little – I lose a bit of concentration, and I gain a bit of stress.

BODY LANGUAGE

(p.71) Not all autistics are completely oblivious to body language. I’m not. I can tell when a raised eyebrow means I’ve done something odd, a startled glance means I’ve spoken in an irregular rhythm, or a confused look means I’ve spouted too many ideas with too little context. But I rarely know what to do about it…sometimes, I can apologize. Clarify. Learn. Add new information to my internal database of what people expect. Other times, the reaction is too subtle, and I’m stuck wondering, Did I actually make a mistake? Will I make things weirder by acknowledging it? If I ask what I did wrong, will they even know how to describe it.”

From Internal Family Systems Therapy, by Richard Schwartz

Collaborating with Managers

(p.98) Given all the valid concerns of the managers over the blending of the child-like exiles, how can the exiles be released and cared for safely? For managers to relax enough to allow the Self access to the exiles, they must be convinced that if they open the door to the exiles, the following will happen (or not happen):

1. The Self can help the exiles; these horrible feelings will change.

2. The Self will not be overwhelmed – this can be done without blending with the exiles.

3. Dangerous firefighters will not be triggered.

4. The therapist will not be repulsed by the exiles and will not lose respect for, abandon, or punish the client for exposing them.

5. The client’s external environment is safe enough to expose exiles; there are not dangerous parts of people in his or her life that will react hurtfully to their exposure (and if the client is attacked, the Self will help the exiles)

6. The exposure of any secrets the exiles hold will not result in dire consequences, such as death, relapse, or the loss of any chance for redemption from family members.

7. The managers themselves will not be eliminated once they are no longer needed in their overprotective role.

If the managers can be convinced of these things, they will give the Self access, and in fact will help rather than resist the therapist. Not every manager has all of these concerns, but these are the most common ones, and it behooves the therapist to explore them thoroughly. Below, I offer ways to address each of these concerns.

PROVIDING REASSURANCE THAT EXILES CAN CHANGE

Many managers will insist that there is no point to working with the client’s pain because “the damage has been done and cannot be undone, so all you can do is stay away from the pain and not look back.”… To counter this belief, I reassure the managers that although I understand why they believe this, it is not true:

“The parts that hold your pain and fear can change if they are taken care of. Their extreme state is the result of being stuck in the past and of having been exiled. Once retrieved and cared for, they will let go of their extreme feelings and will be valuable, enjoyable parts, and you [the managers] will not have to stay in this extreme role of trying to keep them out.”

It may take some time, persistence, and experimenting before managers are willing to consider this possibility.

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