Date: 29th Jan 2024
In therapy there's this theory/tool called Transactional Analysis and Ego States. I find it really interesting to look through my life through the lenses these tools provide me with. But I suck at explaining them. So, if you want to know more about these and how they're used, here's a useful link! But the one ego state that always stands out for me is that of 'the child'. From that link I provided, the writer states "The child ego state is the part of the personality, which is preserved from actual childhood; it is [...] primarily about spontaneous feelings, needs and wants of the child".
So why is this interesting to me? Well simply put because my child ego state is where the vast majority of my trauma is held and thus, is where I revert back to if/when I get triggered. When I go into a state of fight/flight and have a trauma response of any kind, I look at the world through the eyes of a powerless child, not an empowered, bad ass, kick ass 22 (nearly 23) year old academic. My child ego state (lets call her Boo as that was my childhood nickname), sits at roughly 8. But her age fluctuates, she can reach about 12 at the oldest but still very much views the world from a child's perspective. She’s the very youngest version of me that died. She’s trapped in time, in my head in memories and she cannot escape them. And her view of the world is unfortunately not one of stable love, adoration and safety, but one of fear, anxiety and heartbreak.
I'm not ready to go into details so openly on the interweb about my childhood quite yet. Time will tell if I am ever ready for that step but I know now that I was emotionally abused by someone very important to me. Someone who should have been there, been a shoulder to cry on but chose to lock doors instead. Growing up, when I got scared, angry, frightened or needed comfort, the majority of the time I felt like I was left alone to deal with those emotions. Or scorned for losing control. I was made to feel smaller, weak, stupid, ignorant and like I was a burden for crying, for seeking comfort. And as I mentioned in another post, this resulted in very insecure attachments to both my parents. Attachments that continue to affect every relationship I have in my life. And yes, that includes my friends and my blood related family. Said attachment also had a big effect on the start of my relationships with Luna and Jack but perhaps that's a convo for another post.
My first ever panic attack likely happened at 8 and the trauma associated with it, has left me with not only a very deep seated fear of abandonment but also quite literally scars on my feet and ankles. I'm again, not ready to go into too much detail about how this happened, but in short, Boo in a blind panic, kicked through a locked glass door in socks to get to her family and wound up with glass in her feet as a result. And the moment that panic, that trauma, that genuine life altering level of fear of being literally left behind, happened, Boo died.
While the physical me survived, the innocence of my childhood was taken from me that day and she (and me by proxy) grew up far too fast. We locked out our feelings, hid our struggles and lived in fear our family would leave us. Fear that is still with me today. And when I get triggered, even triggers associated with college or other versions of me that hold trauma, quite often it's that little 8 year olds terror that shines through. Her perspective of the world is so tainted, so bruised and hurt and lonely and much like 16 year old me, I wish sometimes I could scoop Boo up in my arms and comfort her. Heaven knows she needed it. But comfort, was something I grew used to not getting. And so, as a result, not only can I remember very few memories from my entire childhood (which freaks me out at times), I'm left with trauma that is stupidly deep set in my soul. And hard to budge as a result. Trauma that the next 2 versions of me, managed to add to.
The next version of me that died sits anywhere between 16 and 18. Yes, college again. Yes, Sara again. Yes a 100x over. Trust me, I wish 16-18 year old me wasn't also trapped in time like Boo but they both are. Both stuck in the dark, in the terror and the abuse, the shame, the guilt and many, many other emotions. I don't think I need to explain why 16-18 is the next age where a part of me died, because, well emotional abuse and manipulation, self harm, suicidality and eating disorders for 2 years solid, would be enough to kill off any part of a 16-18 year old if you ask me. This version of me holds very specific triggers. Most of which are dying out along with the shame of what happened to me at college. So here's some old triggers that I can share as they no longer hurt me:
Blue convertible minis. It's what Sara drove when I was at college.
The smell of freshly cut grass
Blue jeans and white shirts
Women who are taller than me
Women standing behind me
The physical building of Coleg Sir Gar Graig Campus
Theatres
And Starbucks/Costas.
Like I said, very specific. But along with Boo, with 16 year old me (who I should name really), the feeling of insecure attachments continued. The trauma of abandonment, of not being believed, of being shamed, discarded and scolded for being me, worsened. College built on core trauma memories and beliefs from childhood and added extra fuel to the fire. My first 'grown up' panic attack happened at 17 and I thought I was going to die. Standing on a safety netting 30 feet above a theatre auditorium, feeling faint, shakey, glued to the floor and left alone. And taunted afterwards by my peers for being scared of heights. I bawled my eyes out that day and guess who walked past me and completely ignored my own existence? Sara.
The 3rd and final version of me that died, is stuck at 20. Specifically in October 2020. She died the night I tried to kill myself. That pain, terror, fear and anxiety in our wrecked flat near Dollis Hill in London, trapped a ghost of me there forever. Much like how I think Boo haunts my old home in Cornwall (where I lived from 8 - 13) and 16 year old me haunts Coleg Sir Gar (and hopefully Sara, because Sara deserves a grumpy, vengeful, hurt ghost to be following her around), 20 year old Beth is stuck in my old bedroom. To be very specific, it's like she went to sleep as I once intended all those years ago and never woke up. She's curled up in the double bed, fairy lights on, teddies surrounding her, peaceful.
But despite her outward peace, she holds the trauma of the 3 months I lived in London during 2020. Of the relationships that failed, the sexual assaults (potential rapes if you ask my therapist but I'm not ready to go there yet), the people I trusted who left and said horrific things to the (only just surviving), 20 year old me in hospital, or the people I trusted who left with no goodbye, the suicide attempts and the hospital trauma. And she holds a lot of shame.
So why have I mentioned all of this? Well in therapy, when moments like the ones I mentioned above come up, we try to process it through the eyes, the mentality of the age I was at the time the trauma happened. Because my 22 year old, healthy, going to therapy and recovering from things, POV is drastically different to the 8 year old locked behind glass doors, the 12 year old forced to choose which soft toys to keep, the 16 year old me facing abuse from tutors and even the 20 year old me in hospital, sick to the bone and alone. My perspective on life is so different to all those key moments and to truly understand what I was feeling, ego states are a useful framework for me to use. And also give me access in real time when I am triggered to understand how to help, how to shift my mindset from child, to adult ego state. Which was often needed around my friend group at UCL (including Luna and Jack, cos they be friends now) and Nicola (when we were still in touch).
I find therapy interesting. I like working out why my brain does what it does and how it ticks and while it does scare me that one day I will open up a can of worms that will not shut, I know it'll eventually sort itself out. My brain doesn't have to be a mystery to me! Wish I could say the same about my physical body but eh, one step at a time?
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