Well, that sucked. Today was visit #4 with Dr. Mandolin. It was awful.
Not because of her clinical manner, expertise, or demeanor. I can’t even blame her line of questions. It absolutely sucked because we are in the beginning of in vivo prolonged exposure therapy. The idea behind this approach is that continual exposure to the fearful place/thing/situation will eventually lead to less anxiety and panic. So, the things I avoid on a daily basis should, in theory, become less stabby in my worldview if I interact with them more. No more avoidance. While I’m not terribly keen on the idea of doing things that cause me panic attacks (it seems so counterintuitive), I’m not staunchly against it. Plus, I’m a huge fan of the scientific method and there’s a ton of research that substantiates this approach.
What I didn’t expect was the connections I would make. For the longest time, in some cases for more than 40 years, I have done things in a particular or peculiar way. I just did things…because. For instance, I’m not a person that is dirty. I like clean hair, teeth, fresh skin, and deodorant. I floss religiously, almost compulsively, in the car. Pluck my eyebrows, snag stray hairs. Keep wipes in my purse. I don’t wear dirty clothes. All the basics.
Given that context, why, then, are showers and baths so hard for me? I have wondered for years. It’s a feat of mental and physical strength and agility to get me in the water. I have to work myself up to it. In fact, I’m having the pep talk in my head as I type this. Prepping myself for the heart pounding event that is meeting the Dove soap and loofah.
I can go days without a shower or bath, and it’s not like I want to. I love the way I feel when I’m done, but I cannot just get in. Procrastination is the name of this game; I’ll wash my face and wipe down religiously. Even the oily scalp and itchiness that comes from a dirty mane isn’t enough to push me to grab a rubber ducky, the Calgon, and head for the tub. I have to psych myself up to get clean.
Other victims of trauma will understand the significance of any ah-ha moment in therapy. It’s like no other revelation in life. The precise moment when you connect the dots and understand who you are and why, on an entirely new level, is cataclysmic. These moments shift a person’s reality, hard and fast. In an instant and seemingly out of the blue, I realized why I don’t like getting clean in a body of water.
It’s because I have to remove my clothes.
In that moment, despite the washer and dryer running upstairs and the county parks and recreations people mowing the lawn 25′ from my front door, time stopped. Silence prevailed. It was a new feeling unlike any I had before. I wasn’t having a panic attack, but I wasn’t not having a panic attack. This was an entirely new physical and emotional experience, and I didn’t like it. I didn’t know what to do with myself after our session. My whole world had been reframed.
A successful bath or shower requires nudity. Incidentally, this is also the same reason I haven’t purchased new underwear or bras for myself in years. Yes, years. I have one bra left. One. I diligently wash and care for what I’ve got because there was some mystical force filling me with dread and fear at the thought of getting fitted, etc… The panic attacks and anxiety just typing about a bra is a bucket of suck. It drives my husband batty, “why the hell won’t you just get new bras and underwear for yourself?!?! I just don’t understand!!!”
Well, now I know. Dr. Mandolin knows. My husband knows. He knows that I know, and so does she. He knows that she knows. Everyone is in-the-know and I hate it. Knowledge is power, but sometimes it sucks. It is nice to know that I’m not completely off my rocker, walking through life with some idiopathic reason for hating submersive hygiene rituals. There has been a reason for this behavior all along.
I just want a fucking bath like a normal person.
