I find the idea of having a body hard to deal with.
There’s a pretty strong school of thought that how we feel about our bodies comes from our formative experiences; basically, it’s largely down to your childhood.
But I’m uncomfortable with that. It implies blame. And fault. And makes us out to be victims of our circumstances. It doesn’t sit with my view that some of us are made wrong, that things go beyond whether you had a happy childhood.
As a parent I know that we try our best – but that we’re not perfect and we make mistakes.
As a daughter I know that my parents made mistakes with me when I was growing up. I still love them. I am rock-solid sure that they want the best for me. I also know they don’t know what’s best for me.
I’ve just started art psychotherapy, well aware that it largely works on looking for reasons for the way we feel from childhood. I feel guilty about that. Deeply, deeply guilty. I’m also aware – having spent two years in talking therapy in the recent past – that things did go wrong in my childhood. Not cataclysmically, but enough to warp my feelings about my body.
My brain melts at the thought that this might be part of the mix. That the blackness within is magnified by the environmental damage without. I feel guilty that I am wasting valuable psychological services on something that I know cannot be mended.
So, guilt. Don’t you love it?