The Tribal Drums of Ecstacy!

 I shall tell ye through the medium of dance!

~ Little Britain

The Ray McCooney character in the BBC comedy Little Britain may have been onto something when he would say that he would express himself through the medium of dance. Dance is a form of expression, a medium of communication using movement, and a non-verbal art form. I've never really been much of a dancer. A couple of weeks ago I attended a two-day workshop comprising dance movement psychotherapy, authentic movement and ecstatic dance! I had very little idea what any of these things were but I found the experience quite illuminating and I now feel these are areas I'd like to explore more. As far as I know, authentic dance was born out of dance movement psychotherapy and has elements of Jung as well as other ideas in the underpinning theory. 

The dance movement psychotherapy we did revolved around dancing to music as a group. Our facilitator explained to us how we can use all parts of our bodies, moving freely whilst feeling the music flow through us. We were encouraged to go with the flow and embody ourselves into the rhythms in a mindful way, paying attention to what the body was telling us. At the end of the session we split into groups of three or four and talked about how we experienced the session. It was explained to us that as we move our bodies our minds start to feel freer, almost as if bodily movements somehow lubricate the mind. We were asked to reflect on the thoughts and feelings that were released through our movement and whether we noticed any changes in these during the movement session. We talked about a lot of this in our small groups and gave and received reflection to each other. I do think there was a therapeutic element to this process and believe it has much more potential than the limited time available did it justice.

We moved on to doing an authentic movement session. This involved working in pairs, taking it in turns to work as "mover" and as "witness". The idea was that the mover would engage in the authentic movement first whilst the witness observed and then we would swap places. We did the exercises to music, although I understand they can be done without, and we kept our eyes closed when we were acting as movers. Fundamentally we had to listen to our body and let it take us wherever it felt, almost as if it had a mind of its own. We were to feel the music and let the imagery, sensation and sound permeate our body and let it move in an authentic way without interfering cognitively. The movement had to be whatever we naturally felt without any restrictive thoughts to interfere with the process. The witness was there to make sure we were safe, as we were moving in the space with our eyes closed, and to provide non-judgemental and non-directive reflection at the end of the session.

 

Image by Liminale

A key element of authentic movement is to allow a deep connection between the mind and body. According to the theory, by allowing ourselves to experience genuine movement a connection is made which can transfer elements of the past that are embedded in the unconscious into the conscious. The power of authentic movement as a therapy is that it makes a connection between the mind and body allowing for increased self-awareness and new insights. Our inner experiences which are buried in our unconscious are what move us physically and it is this connection that brings thoughts and feelings into the conscious realm where they can be integrated in the present. The process can also incorporate mindfulness and spirituality in a way that adds a transcendental dimension to the experience. Our mind, body and spirit become harmonious and represent a unified existence in the present moment.

The other part of the workshop was an extended ecstatic dance. Our facilitator guided us through the music which she DJd in a way that took us all on a journey together. The music started off very slowly with some new world tribal sounds, a slow but rhythmic beating of distant African drums, seamlessly progressing in tempo and eventually reaching deephouse and trance euphoria during the middle part of the dance journey. From there things started to slow down, with an alternative music sequence, eventually bringing us towards the end of the journey with mellow ambient sounds which I don't think I can even describe; maybe friendly, smiling dolphins swimming in the ocean whilst humming to each other as they glide through the water! The whole ecstatic dance experience was also rooted in authentic movement in that we moved freely, letting our bodies move as they wanted, but with an additional element of moving to the rhythm of the music in a conscious way. Other features of the ecstatic dance included not being allowed to talk, a collective experience of being on a journey together and being aware of our own sensations in the communal space. 

 

 

We reflected on the experience in small groups shortly after we'd finished. What I'd found was that I had been able to "let go" of some of my inhibitions so that I had been able to dance without being particularly self-conscious. That had been quite a liberating experience. I also actually enjoyed the dancing and was surprised at some of the movements I could actually do! It did feel like a journey in many ways. It was a journey of the mind, influenced by the dancing and the movements, during which a lot of different thoughts and feelings seemed to come up for me. During the two hours I had periods of sadness and anger but also of happiness and optimism and lots in between. It was also a journey which I traversed with fellow travellers, the other movers and shakers in the space, with our DJ at the helm of the vehicle that was transporting us. Although there was a communal connection there was one thing that was missing: there was no connection with any individual human being. At the end of the dance we all went our separate ways and I with a feeling that I'd enjoyed the event, immersing myself in the ecstatic dance, but harbouring a persistent feeling of loneliness and isolation.

The workshop was surprisingly comprehensive, covering so many different facets of therapeutic applications of dance and movement, and expertly facilitated by Iona McNeil, who I found to be an amazing ecstatic dance leader. Dance movement psychotherapy and authentic movement are now on my radar for further exploration for their therapeutic benefits. Ecstatic dance is also on my radar as a potential mental and physical health well-being activity. A cursory search on Eventbrite and Meetup seems to throw up a whole bunch of ecstatic dance events but without the safety net of the more formalised workshop that I attended. Attendance of such an event will require a step a bit beyond my comfort zone, especially as I don't have anyone to go with. It would be so good to be able to go along with people that also want to explore these sorts of things. In the meantime I think I might put some music on a bit later and dance ecstatically in my flat! 

Let's see what a YouTube search for tribal African drums and deephouse brings up!

~~~

Information on Iona McNeil's ecstatic dance events; accessed on 07/02/2024 ~ definitely worth checking out!

An Imaginary Friend at Christmas!

Loneliness is not solitude. Solitude requires being alone, whereas loneliness shows itself most sharply in company with others.

~ Hannah Arendt

It's the afternoon of Christmas day! As I sit and occasionally look out of the window I am struck by the stillness of the world outside. I don't see anyone walking along the street nor do I see any cars. It feels like a place and time in a post-apocalyptic and dystopian future world. The view is foggy. The silence is deafening. The absence of any signs of life is ominous. Yet this moribund state is not a true reflection of the day. Whilst there will be many who are alone there are many more who are spending time with friends and family. I can only imagine the lovely food, the paper hats and crappy cracker jokes (does someone actually get paid to come up with those!?).

It's not even clear to me how I feel today. I knew Christmas was coming and that I would be spending a few days on my own. I made an effort on Saturday to go to some events to try and maximise the hours of human contact on that day. I saw this as a way of filling up with as much human connection fuel as my emotional tank could accommodate. My theory was that, the more human contact I could immerse myself in, the longer I would be able to keep going over the Christmas void. It would take longer for the effects of being on my own to start to have a negative impact. Normally, after an overdose of socialising, I almost always need time to recharge anyway, so even if it wasn't Christmas, I wouldn't yet be looking for any further dose of social activity. I think I've still got enough fuel in the tank to last me for Boxing day. After that, I know I will start to feel some desperation to connect again, even if at least on a superficial level.  

Hannah Arendt, an American-Jewish philosopher, wrote about loneliness, isolation and solitude. I think it's useful to note some distinctions in the meanings of these words. She said that "Solitude is that human situation in which I keep myself company. Loneliness comes about when I am alone without being able to split up into the two-in-one, without being able to keep myself company". Arendt distinguished isolation from loneliness, saying that it was "Destructive of power and the capacity for action". Loneliness is a feeling. It represents an emotion arising from an unmet need to be connected with others but not being able to do so. Feeling lonely is a craving to connect with others on a meaningful level but being disconnected and alone. It is not important whether one is physically on their own or surrounded by many others; I find I am often surrounded by people but still feel completely disconnected and lonely.

 Hannah Arendt

 

Isolation is different to loneliness as it represents a circumstance and not a feeling. It is a physical disconnection rather than an emotional one. During the Covid-19 lockdowns we were told we had to isolate, to keep ourselves to ourselves and to not spend time with others. Not being with others meant we were physically isolated. Our need for human connection was impacted. As social animals this caused us problems as it made us miserable and dysfunctional. The social cohesion that is the essence of our existence was impaired. Of course, we still had our mobiles, Instas and Facebooks, and along came Zoom, and whilst these provided a way to reduce the feelings arising from isolation, they were not a panacea for the quality and depth of human connection that can only be experienced in real life. Looking at someone's image on a screen or giving them a virtual hug can never replace a real gaze into their eyes or the tactile sensation of their warm embrace.

Solitude is a positive conscious choice. It maintains balance on the social interaction scale. I may go to a bunch of meetups, feel emotionally and physically fatigued as a result, and then choose to spend a couple of days on my own to rebuild my resources. I may equally choose to stay in on my own rather than go out as, on some occasions, I might just prefer my own company, have some thinking to do, want to watch something on TV, go on the internet or read something. Loneliness, on the other hand, is not a choice, and neither is isolation. It is entirely possible to be lonely but not isolated, and it is equally possible to be isolated but not feel lonely. I was at a social event surrounded by people a few nights ago but couldn't strike up conversation or establish any rapport with anyone at all and felt very lonely. I've just been writing this post for my blog over the past couple of hours and, despite there not being even a hint of human life visibly or audibly anywhere around me, have somehow not felt as lonely as I did earlier. I feel as if I am actually talking to you, the reader! I am experiencing the state of solitude rather than loneliness at this point in time.  

The subject of feeling alone and discombobulated (I've been dying to use that word in my blog since I started writing it!) at social events, and in life in general, came up at some psychotherapy sessions a few years ago. The therapist at the time suggested I try a technique which she described as having a conversation with an imaginary friend. She explained I should create a mental image of this illusory friend and actually talk to them out loud as if they were physically present. A question arises: isn't this the same as talking to oneself? To an observer, yes, it would appear no different. But if, in my mind, I am talking to someone else then I cannot be talking to myself. The fact that they don't exist doesn't change the fact that I am talking to them! Ok, it's a bit of a grey area! Maybe we can dissect it over a cup of tea. Who am I talking to now?

Spending Christmas on my own means doing so in isolation and for me it is a fundamentally lonely experience. However, the fuel tank is still half full (notice the optimism!) and so has some mileage to see me through a bit longer. Whatsmore, there is a smidgeon of respite from a bit of the loneliness which has been replaced by solitude: on the receiving end of this blog post I feel as if I have an imaginary reader who I am "talking" to. Perhaps my therapist wasn't cranky after all!

My Brain is Lit Like an Airport

My brain is lit like an airport
So the angels will find me
Recruit me
She wants me on the show
I’m considering as it will give me more exposure
Perhaps I could help others by showing my recovery process
Sharing my tools and insights

~  Katiejane Garside/ Liar, Flower

I'm having so many doubts about so many things so much of the time. I've been asking myself things like why I am writing this blog, why I am running a peer support group, why I did a counselling course and why I attended the recent peer mentoring course. I am wondering what I am able to offer and what I may be gaining. If I hadn't been doing all this, how I would have spent that time and energy. My motivations seem a little hazy; I can sort of see some answers through the mist but some of these are a little obscured through a foggy cognitive distance. There's so much going on in my mind; it's in a constant and intense state of critical thought, as I continually try to piece together the infinite number of pieces of an impossible and forever changing metaphorical jigsaw puzzle. The neurons race around at high speed creating flashes of light throughout their paths. My brain is lit like an airport.

On the last day of the Talk for Health peer counselling course I took in a bottle of antidepressants. I explained to the group that I believe it's a terrible state of affairs that for decades medical professionals have been prescribing these as if they are some wonder pill that cures all mental ills. They really don't. They treat the underlying conditions by reducing their impact through artificial means. They alter the chemical balance in the brain, numbing the parts that give rise to psychological or psychiatric problems and enhancing those that give rise to us feeling good. Essentially, they just brush the problems under a heavy shagpile; they don't attempt to deal with the underlying causes. Talking, and being listened to, understood and acknowledged, on the other hand, is a direct path to accessing proper awareness of these causes and is the only way to tackle them head on. I think it's beliefs like these that fundamentally motivated me to pursue all the mental health related activities that I've spent much of my time on.

Whilst explaining some of my thinking to the group I opened the bottle I was holding, turned it upside down, and out poured a whole load of badges, all uniquely patterned and coloured. There were no antidepressants in the bottle; I'd replaced them with these colourful badges. Each of these, I explained, represented someone in the room, each one of us a unique individual with our own unique good and bad points, issues and world views. We shouldn't rely on antidepressants or form a dependence on them. An alternative option is just to talk and listen to each other through the lens of understanding that we are all human with similar ways of feeling. This really works when we appreciate that we all have unique perspectives on the world, our internal filters having been created through our own individual experiences, so that we can establish connections fuelled by empathy. If we can share what someone else is feeling by tapping into our own emotions then we connect with understanding and compassion.

There's one particular advantage of helping others in this way, that is, through offering the space and time to actively listen to them and extend empathic understanding: we help ourselves. I know from recent experiences that when I have been there for others and genuinely wanted to listen, understand and empathise, it's had a remarkable positive effect on my own well-being. These kinds of feelings are likely to be an evolutionary trait. Millions of years ago we relied on each other to survive and if we had not helped each other then we would not have helped ourselves; we would have been wiped out as a species. Survival, physical and emotional well-being, is dependent on co-operation and so it feels good and beneficial to help others as we are helping ourselves in the process for the greater good of humanity.

Listening to other people's stories can also help us to relate to them. I've discovered that when I am available to hear and experience what someone else has to say I am particularly moved if there is a direct personal resonance with my own experiences. This works both ways. On the last day of the Talk for Health course someone came up to me during the break and said to me how hard it must be for me to cope with the TMJ situation (I talked about this in my blog post Just Another Manic Monday) that I had shared during the previous week. She told me that it is "ruining my life". How right she was. That is pure, unadulterated empathy right there. Then she told me about exactly the same problem that she's had to endure for years but all the while empathising with the situation as it affected me. What a wonderful human being! It's people like this that restore some faith in humanity. Sharing our stories, tools, insights and our recovery process is an integral and fundamental part of meaningful connection.

One such tool for me at the moment is writing this blog. I've been writing it for a few months and I know Google doesn't want anyone else to read it but, despite knowing that nobody has even seen it or is even aware of its existence, it provides a medium of catharsis as it allows me a way to get things out. By writing things down, or typing them on a keyboard to appear on a screen, I can sometimes achieve some level of awareness on a few of the things that are on my mind. It's not the same as talking to a real person which has the benefit of being listened to and receiving feedback or empathy, but it's something. Every little helps! Talking to someone who will listen and extend empathy or facilitate insight, ideally both, can't be beaten as a therapeutic process; it deals with the heart of the matter rather than gloss over it in the way that antidepressants do. It can be done in a formal setting with a trained therapist but it can also be done with peers who are familiar with the principles I write about in my blog.

Some doubts about why I do what I do are likely to persist, particularly at this relatively early stage of my own personal development with therapeutic processes, learning and experiencing. Perhaps over time, if I am able to observe better results in exchanging awareness, empathy and connecting with others, it might lead to a greater sense of feeling worthwhile and I might be able to look back and conclude that it was all worth it. Lack of direction is another factor that causes me to doubt what I am doing but as this starts to take better aim it too should help to reassure me a little. Somehow though, I don't think I am doing anything inherently wrong. My brain is lit like an airport, so the angels will find me.

~~~

Katiejane Garside/ Liar, Flower; My Brain is Lit Like an Airport, available on YouTube, accessed on 10/12/2023 ~ the wonderful and amazing Katiejane provided inspiration for this post through her singing and music

The Unrealised Promise of Mingling at Meetups

It's Sunday morning. I'm mentally and physically drained. There's not a single cell in my system that has even a nano unit of energy. This is mostly the result of simply trying too hard and doing too much. This fluctuates with periods of doing virtually nothing other than just waiting for time to evaporate and bring me closer to the future (I have analytical thoughts on this which I will share in another post), a state that is equally draining but perhaps in different ways. Friday was the last of four weeks on Talk for Health, a peer counselling course that I've been doing once a week. By the end of the afternoon my brain was rendered virtually inoperative. There was something mentally exhausting about the course. I don't think it was even primarily the subject matter but rather the delivery and interaction; there was a tiring slowness and weightiness about it which expended considerable psychological effort. When I got home I slumped on my sofa in a zombie-like fashion from which I did not recover.

Over the past few months, when I've felt frustrated or depressed I'd been resorting to telephoning a helpline, such as Samaritans. Recently, however, I noticed that I'd developed a dependency on this which I felt was an unhealthy place to be as essentially it became a de facto addiction. A couple of weeks ago I made a conscious decision not to make any more such calls, recognising that reliance-by-default was neither sustainable nor conducive to mental wellbeing. So on Friday the confused emotional hopscotch I was experiencing would have to play out on its own. I was aiming to be at least refreshed enough by Saturday morning to function again on some level as I'd diarised a coffee afternoon with a group through Meetup. Poor weather is one other factor that has a major impact on whether I even go out but it was actually a sunny December morning, with seven degrees Celsius and virtually no contributory wind-chill factor or rain forecast.

There was a pro-Palestinian demonstration in central London resulting in curtailment of bus journeys. Having to walk a few stops as a result meant I arrived to find most people from the meetup already in the coffee shop. The host pulled up a chair for me which felt very welcoming. I counted twelve in the group; I am always counting and re-counting everything! Even whilst sitting with the group I periodically counted everyone many times over. I'd been doing the same in the Talk for Health group and I always do this in Talk & Listen as well. I can't stop counting things; even as I lie in bed I count through things or repeat numbers to myself; on buses I keep counting the number of passengers, the number of bags, mobile phones and all manner of paraphernalia. Anyway, I digress, and not for the first or last time! Whilst everyone present was engaged in conversation it was with their immediate neighbours. This applied to me as well and did not change for the entire two hours that we were there! I would have liked to talk to everyone in the group but nobody budged; there was simply no mingling. 

The whole point of these meetups is to meet people and not to get stuck with the same one or two people for the entire duration. In the unfortunate scenario, as often happens, that you end up sitting next to someone that you very quickly discover you have nothing in common with, or find very hard work, you're lumbered! There is no get-out-of-jail-card option other than just leaving which in itself would feel awkward. I don't feel I have the confidence to do that but just staying can become a real test of endurance. It just so happened that it wasn't so bad yesterday although there was an element of having to make an effort to keep some conversation going where really I would rather not have had to. On leaving I knew that my need for human connection on some semi-meaningful level at least had not been met and I realised I felt a real desperation in making some such connection. I quickly scrolled through events on the Meetup app and came across a social night meetup which boiled down to having a drink and dinner at Wetherspoons. The number eight bus would get me there.

The knock on effects of the earlier demonstration meant buses were not running normally and, again, I arrived to find that everyone was already half way through their meals; in fact I noticed the lady at the end of the table was just forking the last chip from her plate! It was a bigger group than the one at the earlier meetup; I counted twenty-two, several times, as I stood at the foot of the row of tables like a prized yucca plant. There wasn't a single spare chair. Everyone seemed busy with their food and the conversations they each seemed to be engaged in with their immediate neighbours or the person opposite them to notice me, not even the host. I announced that I was leaving, wishing everyone a pleasant evening, although my social anxiety may have prevented my voice of reaching the required number of decibels required for human auditory detection. 

As I started to make my way towards the exit a woman exclaimed I should bring a chair and sit at the corner of the table. Just as I was contemplating this possibility someone else arrived; this was confirmed as I counted everyone again and arrived at a figure of twenty-three. Their arrival resulted in a revised table arrangement where the end table was split off from the rest, a bit like the small part of a rocket that detaches itself and falls away from the rest of it after launch, leaving the main rocket to fly on. I ended up sitting at the small separate table with another chap and the new woman! After a few moments she got up and somehow found a way to join the main rocket, leaving me with the chap at the fuel booster that had fallen away. The conversation required more effort as it was now one-to-one action. I'd ordered fish and chips, the seed of choice having been planted by the woman and her forking of her last chip earlier. When a meetup involves having a meal the movement restrictions are greater than when just having a coffee; one really is lumbered. Having said that, everyone remained fixed in position long after they'd finished eating. Mingling is simply not a feature of some of these meetups.   

After some time a few people got up to leave and I glided through space towards the top end of the main rocket. I perched near a cluster of three, relieved that I'd been able to move. Physically moving in space induces a shift in thought and emotional state. I've noticed if I am particularly burdened by a continual stream of negative thought I can sometimes reduce its impact or shift it entirely simply by getting up and walking about for a few moments. Sometimes even just turning my head to look the other way can be enough to achieve this kind of result. The cluster of three was quite friendly and easy to talk to but, alas, they had to leave too. There was a couple to my left but the woman got up to leave and I started to chat to the man that remained. It became apparent very quickly that there was no rapport whatsoever here. I found this individual very difficult and he had quite an aggressive way about him.

Later on I reflected on why I stay in the company of people whose behaviour makes me feel uncomfortable or with whom I really don't want to engage, but make real efforts to do so anyway. I had sat with this person for at least half an hour but there wasn't a single moment where I hadn't wanted to part company. Ordinarily one might ask why I just didn't get up and leave. The reality is I was trapped in a prison in my own mind which made it impossible. I remember that I kept thinking that I really didn't want to sit with this individual for a single moment longer and that I kept trying to think of how to make an exit. The problem was that my attempts to formulate a plan to facilitate this were sabotaged by intrusive thoughts of dropping something if I were to get up and leave, and then not being able to check if I had dropped something. I was also concerned about leaving something behind on the table and was additionally preoccupied by the bottle of ketchup whose position I found I was continually fine-tuning.

Regular readers of this blog (which we have already established don't exist because of Google's refusal to index it) will be aware that I suffer from obsessive-compulsive disorder (OCD) and, in times of anxiety, and indeed in times of relative calm, it kicks in, hijacking my thoughts and dictating my behaviours. I needed to get away from someone, within whose presence I felt very uneasy, and the extreme anxiety that was building up launched an ongoing internal full scale attack of obsessive-compulsive disorder from which there was no escape. The thoughts of dropping something if I were to get up to try and leave and the bottle of ketchup dragged me along a path away from the one that would allow me to break away from the psychological turmoil I was experiencing. The guy said he had to go, got up, put his coat on and, as he walked through the doorway I could feel the veins in my whole body surge with a coolness of rushing mountain spring water. If Van Gogh had created a painting to represent the look on my face at that point in time it would probably have ended up being little more than a blank canvas; everything had lifted away and the prison gates were wide open exposing a blank emptiness inside.

Authenticity has become a key value for me this year. My authentic self would have said to my fellow comrade that it didn't find the conversation engaging, would have acknowledged the lack of rapport, would have expressed the discomfort and, having opened up to the vulnerability of relaying such complete and unequivocal honesty, would have felt no guilt in severing the connection. At the same time, I can't help but wonder that sometimes we may not want to express such authenticity. We do not owe anything in particular other than a level of courteousness to a transient stranger through a fleeting encounter; authenticity is the goal to formulate and maintain positive relationships with people that you want to include in your life. The ketchup man situation really just needed me to feel confident enough to be assertive in saying goodbye. My OCD, and all the other anxieties I experienced, are indicators of just how much my confidence is lacking.

The Black Cloud That Is Depression

In just the past twenty-four hours I've: had a truly connected conversation on the telephone with someone who attended my peer support group not that long ago; attended a singing class; managed to get myself out of my flat and go for a walk in lovely weather; bought some beautiful olive bread; received some great news about a friend of mine who has been short-listed for an award for which she was nominated by me; did a good deed for two strangers when I was out. It would be odd if, in light of all of this, you did not believe that I was enjoying a happy and fulfilling life. The harsh reality, however, is that I feel the weight of an oppressive heavy black cloud right in front of me which doesn't seem to be going anywhere fast. This cloud has a name, the true scale and intensity of which many don't fully understand unless they've experienced it themselves: depression.

A few weeks ago I was at an evening games night. This was a social event at a coffee shop where there were people playing some games, having a drink and just generally having a good time. There were some familiar faces at the tables scattered around the room and the bar area. I went and sat with some folk who I was acquainted with who were playing Jenga. I joined in and stayed with them until the end. I enthusiastically engaged with everyone, joking around and generally immersed myself in the fun and banter that filled the air. At the end of the evening, as I stepped out of the premises, I was met by my friend with whom I was all too familiar: the burgeoning nimbostratus in all its grandeur!

Last week I was having coffee with another newly acquired friend in-the-making from my peer support group. She bravely disclosed to me that she'd suffered from a condition that she referred to as "hidden" or "smiling" depression. She explained that this is where the sufferer endures the symptoms of depression internally but puts on a brave face to the outside world. The smiles seen by others on the outside mask the turmoil taking place on the inside. The games night fun exhibited was no more than a facade for the dark clouds gathering. 

When I dissect all the things that, on the face of it, should make me feel good, but do the total opposite, I begin to see why. I don't have many friends and feel lonely. I go along to social events to meet new people. There were several people at the games night, and one in particular, who I wanted to connect with. I did indulge in the fun going on but the reality is that social anxiety and obsessive-compulsive disorder (OCD) formed an impenetrable barrier between myself and others. I didn't connect with anyone and I ended up leaving at the end of the night empty-handed. A sense of failure of opportunity, a mourning and regret of unforged connections, a frustration of being encumbered with anxiety and OCD: these were storm clouds that were brewing.

The conversation with a newly acquired friend where I felt so connected should again, on the face of it, be a source of ensuing joy and enrichment. We spent almost two hours on the 'phone last night. We spoke about our lives, things that have happened to us and how we feel about so many things. We were on the same wavelength on absolutely everything! Our personalities matched on every conceivable psychometric barometer, from Myers-Briggs to attachment styles. We were a mirror image of each other! Our reflective empathy clearly demonstrated a fully tuned-in synchronisation of our emotional antennae. 

On dissection, things start to unravel. Since the call I've been afflicted with thoughts that I'm not good enough for this absolutely lovely individual to waste their time with, that I might not turn out to be as good a friend as she'd expected, that I may have said something during the call that wasn't accurate or honest, that she may get bored with me, that I might do or say something that might hurt her, that I might lose her as a friend, that she may never want to talk to me ever again. Anxiety around maintaining a newly found and meaningful friendship and fear of loss, rejection, abandonment and grief have manifested themselves without hesitation, straight off the bat: yet another cloud of agony and despair.

The weather forecast for the foreseeable future is that it will be overcast with some downpours of rain and occasional thunderstorms. There is still hope though: there will be intermittent sunny spells and maybe, some time in the future, the black clouds of depression may dissipate into the ether.

When Empathy Isn't Enough

This is a tough revelation to make: I've been afflicted with an ignorance of empathy throughout my life. Perhaps I've been selfish and prioritised my own needs above those of others. Perhaps there was a need, maybe even on an unconscious level, to maintain an emotional blindness towards the feelings of others. Perhaps I did not know what empathy was or failed to appreciate its significance in connection with life, whether human, animal or plant. 

To say I've spent my life an emotional wreck would be an understatement; it's been more akin to a sinking ship, broken, gasping to stay above water in an ocean violently unsettled by stormy weather. My emotions have been continuously bubbling and boiling away very much in the vein exclaimed by the three witches in Macbeth, who chant "double double toil and trouble, fire burn and cauldron bubble". That, right there, is what's been going on inside. This leads me to an inconceivable state of being as it raises the question: what is the reconciliation that links the paradoxical coexistence of a bubbling cauldron of emotion and a lack of empathy?

On realising that there was a critical missing piece in the jigsaw of the human connections in my life, the meandering path I have staggered along trying to desperately fill in missing parts of the picture led me to a discovery: empathy. The dictionary defines empathy as "the action of understanding, being aware of, being sensitive to, and vicariously experiencing the feelings, thoughts, and experience of another". 

Appreciating and whole heartedly embracing empathy and its power to bridge the gap in human connection, I've been making real efforts to encorporate the "vicarious experiencing" of the feelings of others in my day-to-day interactions. I've been trying to see things from the point of view of those I engage with, to feel what they feel and to reflect this back.

Misunderstandings, conflict and anger have somewhat diminished. Alas, they have not been eliminated. I have discovered that, with some people, empathy isn't enough. There needs to be a genuine desire for people to want to connect. If one party has no interest, because perhaps they choose to be driven by negative emotions stirred by a dislike of another, or they don't believe the connection meets their needs, then bucketloads of empathy may still not be enough; possibly nothing will. A new paradox is spawned: simultaneous coexistence of that bubbling cauldron and a bucketload of empathy. Just when I'd found one piece of the jigsaw I've lost another.