Let me start by saying that I find cognitive behavioral therapy incredible. It has made a profound impact on me. I am not shy when it comes to talking about my therapy experiences.
My previous two therapists did not practice this. I am unsure of what they practiced. I do know it was not for me. From the beginning, CBT held promise. It stood out to be because of its academic literature. Although, that matters little in practice. I am not, nor will I ever be, a practitioner. It was what I needed as a buy-in. I’m glad I tried it again.
The systematic methodological approach of squashing negative thoughts is one of my favorite things about it. It sometimes leads me towards rumination, yes. And at the same time, it puts my internal search to use.
It is not about ignoring the negative thoughts. There is no salve to put over it; no “positive affirmation”. Nothing of the sort. You identify negative patterns. You identify positive ones you would like. And, yes, then you work hard to bridge between the two. It is hard work. When you notice a new (and positive) thought pattern play out where previously negative ones held office, it feels incredible. Incredible, yet hard work.
I emphasize hard, because my negative patterns take hold because of negative experiences. For me, this has meant session after session of revisiting trauma. It is a usual occurrence for me to be extinguished after a session. Yet, the change is profound that I return each week. It feels like going to the gym, but for my mental health. Your muscles tear each time you go, but you return stronger.
The unintended effect of this is that it has Brought me towards a more deterministic view of myself. Much of who I am and what I do, is not because I want to. It happens because of experiences out of my control. It happens because of parenting, again out of my control. Or, it happens because of genetics, which again isn’t in my control. Now, this would be an easy point for me to throw the towel in. Why bother improving myself, if it is all deterministic? I don’t have an answer for that. But, this did not discourage me. It felt like a super perverse treasure hunt. Except instead of fun playthings in the chest, it’s buried trauma.
This has the potential to become addicting. It’s easy to see why. The payoff feels worth it. It feels good, scary good. Like, I know I’m lactose intolerant but I’m still going to eat pizza, good.
As a result of this, I have been reading more, writing more, and talking more about things that would have been unfathomable to me of a few years ago.
And I think it is helping?
While I started by reading a bunch of self-help books,
I now have a habit of reading books.
Similarly, I started writing journals and things relating to mental health, now I have a proper writing habit.
The self-help books opened a way to other readings, and the writings to other forms of writing.
I’m currently working to see and remember bits of my past. Recent experiences with the Journal Protocol that Andrew Huberman talked about opened my eye to a few buried memories. They were essential memories, but with big feelings, I had blocked. I have no doubt there are more. As I recall more of these, I’ve been jotting them down in a document. There are sporadic instances where I recall many things. I do not know what they relate to, but they are there. And there must be a reason I blocked them. Because, there are a few that are painful to recall.
In a similar vein, I have been reading on attachment theory, internal family theory, and other parenting practices. Do these explain my negative patterns? Do they give me a framework of how not to repeat this in future generations? Can I use them to reframe or otherwise adjust narratives in my mind? This last question is paramount in the recall of blocked memories.
Currently reading the following books :
The third is fun. Unrelated however. I’ve been having a massive migraine today, apologies for the scattered thoughts.