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Dr. Bob is Robert Hsiung, MD,
[email protected]Shown: posts 1 to 10 of 10. This is the beginning of the thread.
Posted by twinleaf on September 26, 2010, at 0:41:28
During the most intense times of my therapy, my eyes invariably close. I try to keep them open, sometimes, or apologize to my analyst for not looking at him. But he reassures me that he feels very connected and close to me at those times, and thinks eye-closing has a unique place in therapy. But I didn't know so many other people did it too! Witti described doing it almost all the time, and Vwoolf described doing it right from the start with the therapist she is seeing via skype. I was imagining that, if I were in her position, I might be scanning the screen frantically, trying to get a better feeling of WHO it was that I was talking to. You must have made a wonderful choice of therapist to have jumped right into things so completely. It's so good to know that we can connect so powerfully in that way. I know one person who is finishing an analysis by telephone because she relocated to another state, but she says it does not have a powerful impact, and she much prefers office sessions. I guess the eyes have it, even when closed!
Posted by wittgensteinz on September 26, 2010, at 3:38:23
In reply to with closed eyes..., posted by twinleaf on September 26, 2010, at 0:41:28
The awareness of being watched by the other, albeit with ones own eyes closed, is an important part of it, I think. While meeting eyes is very intimate, closing the eyes altogether is also a very vulnerable position to adopt.
That Skype therapy makes use of cameras is very important, I imagine (even in the case when the client doesn't get to see the therapist only vice versa). In telephone therapy, neither can watch the other.
In my therapy, the chairs are arranged at 90 degrees from one another - not facing directly. So if I sit straight in the chair and stare directly ahead, I don't see my therapist, and he not me. As far as I'm aware (from when I do look across), he tends to turn his head/body and watch me, but there are also times when we both just sit looking straight ahead.
I'm guessing this chair arrangement is a take-off from the Freudian school. Do any of you have the same arrangement with your therapists/analysts? I quite like it as it gives me the choice - either I can just sit straight or I can turn my head slightly to look at him. I don't have to actively turn my head away from him so as to avoid contact - seeking contact is an active process. It also means I know he is actively looking at me.
Witti
Posted by Dinah on September 26, 2010, at 10:42:54
In reply to with closed eyes..., posted by twinleaf on September 26, 2010, at 0:41:28
I spent my first many years in therapy looking anywhere but at him. The second many years of therapy with eyes closed. It used to annoy him, but I'd tell him that I saw him much better with my eyes closed. I was far more aware of his slightest movements and his changes in mood without the distractions of visual input.
It took many years of getting to know him and getting to trust my perceptions before I could see him as well with my eyes open as with my eyes closed.
Posted by Dinah on September 26, 2010, at 10:48:50
In reply to Re: with closed eyes..., posted by Dinah on September 26, 2010, at 10:42:54
Come to think of it, I probably should go back to closing my eyes sometimes. It might cut down on my confusion on what seems like mixed messages. The expression on his face is far more schooled than his voice and "energy" for want of a better word.
Posted by Dinah on September 26, 2010, at 10:54:24
In reply to Re: with closed eyes..., posted by Dinah on September 26, 2010, at 10:48:50
Come to think of it, I was reading the other day that sleeping with someone - really sleeping, not the euphemism - was one of the most intimate things you can do with another person. That it required a huge amount of trust and vulnerability.
Maybe closing eyes isn't so much a shutting down of communication as a lowering of barriers and defenses to be completely vulnerable. To be totally open and aware of the other person in the rawest way. Open eyes can mean vigilance and a scanning for danger.
But I suppose it depends a lot on how different people feel when they close their eyes - and more particularly when they close their eyes with any given person.
Posted by twinleaf on September 26, 2010, at 12:12:31
In reply to with closed eyes..., posted by twinleaf on September 26, 2010, at 0:41:28
Sometimes when we have come to a natural stopping point, he will say, "we don't have to talk right now. We can just be here.". I always feel so excited and terrified when he says that. It seems to suddenly open up so many possibilities. Almost always, something with very strong feelings attached comes up after a minute or two, so I haven't yet explored what it s like to be with him without talking .I have a feeling it is like having your eyes closed only more so.
Posted by annierose on September 26, 2010, at 12:25:10
In reply to the next step?, posted by twinleaf on September 26, 2010, at 12:12:31
I would guess I spend 90% of my sessions with eyes closed and the remaining 10% eyes opened looking away or down with only very quick glances at my therapist. With I do summon the courage to look at her, often her eyes are closed too ... not resting but thinking.
I did skype therapy while I was away on vacation with my current therapist. I found it very connecting and oddly enough, I was able to "look" at her more via computer screen than in person.
The intimacy of being alone with my therapist heightens my awareness of feeling so vulnerable. For that reason, I often avoid lunch dates with girlfriends ... I hate being one on one with most people (besides my children and girlfriends that know me inside and out).
Posted by wittgensteinz on September 26, 2010, at 13:04:29
In reply to the next step?, posted by twinleaf on September 26, 2010, at 12:12:31
There are different types of silences (probably the same goes for the closing of eyes - I've closed my eyes in shame enough times or completely turned my body away from him - it took a great deal of courage to sit back up straight again and open them - if I recall, I said something like "how could I ever possibly open my eyes again?" - the shame of showing ones shame is quite awful).
My first session back after a break tends to be one filled with long silences - not nice silences - cold, empty, distrusting silences. I have happily never gone an entire session in silence though.
Then there are those silences which follow the sharing/realisation of something special - profound - that then culminate in a powerful 'shared silence' (rather than an inflicted one). Perhaps you begin to talk again because the intensity is too much? This is something I have found. Just as we have to adapt to the discomfort of shame, we also have to learn to tolerate the discomfort of intimacy/closeness.
Witti
Posted by annierose on September 26, 2010, at 17:04:11
In reply to Re: the next step? » twinleaf, posted by wittgensteinz on September 26, 2010, at 13:04:29
"Just as we have to adapt to the discomfort of shame, we also have to learn to tolerate the discomfort of intimacy/closeness."
That's true but it's easier to tolerate shame than that of intimacy. For me, I was burned too many times when I eagerly sought intimacy - so my armour is heavy as a pre-emptive measure.
It is a powerful silence (and a healing one) that follows a new mutual understanding of something just discovered. It's reflective and filled with love.
Posted by Daisym on September 29, 2010, at 23:15:52
In reply to Re: the next step?, posted by annierose on September 26, 2010, at 17:04:11
I think sometimes in a long-term therapy, the silence serves to make space for deep reflection, feelings and connections. It use to terrify me to not have anything to say. I'm not completely comfortable with it still, but I can now say just that, "I don't know where to go right now" and after a few questions, my therapist will let the silence take us where we might need to go. It feels like he is just with me - not annoyed that I'm not talking - but instead we seem to be communicating without the words. It happened this past Monday and when we talked about it at the next session, we agreed that sometimes one or the other of us will jump into the silence because we've worked together so long, we think we know how the other is feeling. Silence is like a new shared experience - powerful, scary, but really good sometimes.
I still don't close my eyes very often. Much too scary for me not to be monitoring all the time.
This is the end of the thread.
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