You can’t re-write history. Or can you? I don’t know if this is a therapist thing or not – Guy keeps telling me some of the stuff I come out with is text-book, such as, most recently, the fact I drew ‘grounding’ pictures I could visualise in my head, when I was at school, and which helped me get through my life there – but it just occurred to me to re-write my history.
Let me explain. I was walking back downstairs after my eldest sleep-walked to the downstairs toilet, completely walking past the upstairs bathroom to get there! I heard him clunk down the stairs as he politely tumbled in the dark, and shepherded his sleepy, dazed little frame to the toilet and then back to bed. He walked like one of my old confused patients, with a frown and a specific type of rigid speed and determination you can only get when your brain isn’t quite functioning as it should. I snuggled him into bed and he smiled sleepily through his shut eyes. I could hear myself speak to him in a soft, soothing tone as I lightly stroked the side of his face and told him, “I love you, night, night.”
As I walked back downstairs again I grinned to myself. He must get his sleep-walking from his Mum, as I was a terrible sleep-walker apparently. I wondered what happened to me when I sleep-walked. Was I ever tucked back upstairs and soothed? I am certain I wouldn’t have been touched tenderly and kissed as I was tucked in, or told I was loved, because none of that ever happened with either parent. It just wasn’t ever on the menu, so there was no point in trying to look for it. After a while, perhaps after a few failed attempts, a sane person gives up in order to preserve their sanity; a decision most likely made unconsciously.
And then the idea came to me. What if I re-write my past? Is there any way I could sit down and write out a scenario whereby I imagine step-by-step what that might have looked like? To almost give it to myself, just because I can. Or is that too weird? It reminds me of how, in my first marriage, I would buy myself a tiny bunch of flowers because I wanted them and there was no way any man was going to buy any for me. So I enjoyed the pretty tulips or cornflowers on the windowsill as I washed up, because I had gifted them to myself. I missed the trick of using his money for it, but thats by the by 😆.
I don’t want to do strange exercises if they’re… well… too strange, I suppose, and it did cross my mind that it could even potentially be possible for a tiny bit of healing to come through offering this to my own offspring. Maybe it’s enough to dish it out to others rather than try to re-write an imaginary scenario from my own past?
But, as I say, the first thought to re-write my history crossed my mind after settling my son in his bed, and I wondered if there is any way it could be expanded on therapeutically. I might ask Guy about this one next week. Honestly, I think I need to add that to my shortcut dictionary on my phone – MAG for Might Ask Guy – as I seem to type that line out quite a lot!