A letter to my psychotherapist, written today

Hi T____,

I'm trying this service called Mail A Letter. It lets me type a letter on the internet, then click "send" and it sends it via postal mail. I notice this seems to be a passive aggressive way of telling you that you don't care for me enough--by not accepting email, you are forcing me to write to you using this unusual service. At the same time, I want you to be delighted with me for discovering this service and making use of it.

Today I am more able than ever to listen to the voices of infant/toddler Terry: "I'm doing it wrong." "I don't have enough time." "I don't know what to do." "This is impossible." I am more able than ever to keep listening to these voices as I go about my day. And I am just beginning to really know that these voices are from a time long past, and don't have anything to do with what's going on in the present. These are the most wonderful things that could ever happen to me in my life.

One unsatisfying aspect to these wonderful occurrences is that I don't have vivid, detailed memories of most of them. So, when I reflect on the times in my life when such changes have occurred, the changes don't stand out--more what stands out are things like, "I went orienteering in Wyoming" or "I published a paper". I would like for the narrative of my life to include the things that are most important to me. This is why I try to write about my experiences of my inner work. I don't write about them nearly as much as I'd like to; much is lost.

Over the weekend I looked at two books by Sandra Maitri: "The Spiritual Dimension of the Enneagram: Nine Faces of the Soul" and "The Enneagram of Passions and Virtues: Finding the Way Home". She talks about how it requires great courage to face one's deepest fears. She emphasizes that the ego will be very devious and tenacious in trying to distract from this process. These reminders were helpful as I spent about five separate hour-long sessions attending to my fear and dialoging with the infant/toddler Terry. Often, I would feel ever so strongly that the process was hopeless, that I wasn't doing it right. Really strongly! Then I would remind myself: "the utmost courage is required." "the ego will be devious and tenacious." And I would continue. Encouragingly, at the end of each session I would feel quite content, not at all as though I'd done anything wrong.

Yesterday when I left your office I felt uneasy about having slept through most of the session. I listened to the voice of the uneasiness: "You've wasted this extra long session. You asked for something extra and you didn't even know how to make use of it. You are undeserving and this extra time should be taken away from you." I didn't have time to feel the feelings associated with this voice. Perhaps this evening.

Not sure if you will get this before we meet on Monday. I am guessing not. I am curious what city the letter will be mailed from.

Looking forward to our next session.

Terry