Writing over talking

18 months into therapy, probably well over 100 hours sat together in a room talking where I’ve shared my darkest thoughts, most difficult memories and even my eyewatering acts of self-destruction.

You’d think that now the words would be coming easily?! But no, like an elderly man’s flow I seem suddenly to be interrupted. I’m stuck (well actually we’re stuck as I’m thankfully not in the stuckness alone). The words have dried up. This would be lovely if it was because I was fixed, if I was metaphorically skipping through fields, under rainbows towards a beautiful sunset of contentment.

Running out of woes to share, troubles to half and trauma to offload is of course what anyone entering therapy is hoping to achieve. Alas my lack of things to say is not a result of any of that but instead….well that’s just it I’m not entirely sure I know why.

And what adds further intrigue to the situation is the fact that I’m still able to be communicative, emotional and open with my therapist by email. No trust is lost, no impasse in the therapeutic relationship per se but a definite hurdle has emerged in the room when I try to vocalise where I am, what I’m feeling and what I need.

So, I’ll go with what I know and see if I can unpack this pickle on paper (well screen, I’m old school but not that old school!)

The ultimate listicle – It’s not so good to talk: top 5 reasons why writing is better than speaking.

1. I am more in control in writing

Yep certainly. It’s my bread and butter, I know how to phrase things when I write, I feel safe at a keyboard, it is familiar territory. And the best bit, you can delete it. You can edit yourself. You can delete things you don’t want to share in a way you can’t take back your words.

2. I can be who I want to be in writing

You can send a polished version out there, one you’ve thought about. Plus, and maybe most importantly for me, I can make mould it. I can sound happier, sadder, smarter (important) and more adult and in control. I can present my therapist with the best version of me, I can impress him and play to the Child need for parental praise.

3. My physicality is not a part of my writing

Something I rarely talk about (OK there’s a thing I guess) is my hideous discomfort in my own skin. I deny this truth even to myself a lot because I am, in so many ways at peace with my body. The way I felt about my body as a teenager was appalling and I know I’ve come a really long way. In many ways I’m OK with being fat, it’s just bonus me yes? I’m comfortable in the clothes I wear, I no longer feel the need to hide like I used to and I am proud of this body that has stood up to the punishments I have levelled upon it. Not only has it survived but it has provided me with my greatest achievement – my daughter. I’m not capable of levelling the hate I used to feel towards it.

However, the truth persists that I intensely dislike some qualities about my physical self a great deal. The basic of those is literally the amount of space I take up. I’m so obvious, I’m so there, I need so much room just to be. I can’t squeeze in a corner, hop into a near full lift or hover in the background unnoticed. When my head wants for me to be invisible, when I want to hide my physicality prevents that.

On top of that there is no denying that I carry with me what I believe to be preconceptions that people may have. Be that the need to be fat and jolly or the expectation that I’m lazy or a lover of junk food (although I do have a penchant for McDonalds breakfast but you find any reasonably minded person who doesn’t, even if it is secretly, feel magnetically drawn to the golden arches if they pass before 1030).

But when I write, it’s just my words, seen the same way as anyone’s words. My 300 words take up the same space as anyone else’s and, even when my therapist, the person reading my words knows they are mine he will not have the sight of my hefty frame before him, colouring his interpretation of the words he reads.

4. I don’t have to see the person reading

I, as everyone is, am a sum of my experiences. How I think, feel and respond has been created by the things that have happened to me. I’m created by my story and the characters who’ve been alongside me in this dramatic and comedic saga. And some of these characters are villains. Basically arseholes who have been party to some shitty sub plots. And, without an ounce of sexism, the worst of these scumbags are men. The things that have happened to me in my interactions with some of these colourful bit players have come about as a result of things I’ve said, how I’ve behaved and my responses to them face to face. And, whilst it may not be true, subconsciously I know I’m far from believing that these things were not my fault. I harbor a belief that I might screw up again and end up where I don’t want to be.

With words on a screen I can’t send out those signals and I can’t put myself at risk.

This is a tough thing to write (and of course impossible to say) because my therapist is literally one of the safest people I’ve ever met. Never once have I felt remotely uncomfortable in his presence. And indeed, I know I mindfully chose to work with a male therapist because I also knew that it was important to do that. But all that knowledge doesn’t undo the utter rubbish in my head, the scare that still exists when I think I might mess up and ruin a safe and supportive relationship (there I said it, well typed it!).

5. Shame, simple

This is the bit I think I’ll struggling to explain most. So, the things that need saying are things that a huge part of me is still very ashamed of. And it isn’t that they are new topics but I know exploring them and saying how I feel about them (generally child like to be honest) just makes the grown up Adult of my today cringe. When I write them it’s like a detachment. I am used to writing in the third person, I write as so many voices I am able to feel a sense that it’s less personal. As someone who is relatively capable of depersonalisation in the rest of my life when things get too much I guess this shouldn’t be a big surprise but I’ve only just really had the penny drop – interesting!

So, the big question I guess is what I do next. Yes, I need to keep writing for now. Writing and sharing and getting support from my written words. That’s short term. But next, and important for progress is to get these words off the page and out of my mouth when I’m sat in a safe place with the person I want to help me and is sat waiting to do just that.

Thinking cap on.