You may wonder what this post is about...it's an expansion of the "What Does the Inner Critic Mean to You?" thread in this forum. I initially got the idea from just me here's post on our memories being like computer files...bear with me!:
I responded by saying our inner/outer schemas are like Tinker Toys....we get a set of equipment- the sticks and wooden wheels, and mostly it is left to us to create a manual to figure out how to move along in life. The sticks and wheels get knocked out by traumas, and we need to replace them to get some structure and move on. Sometimes many pieces get knocked out at once, then we feel overwhelmed, but do what we can to scrape by.
Another analogy: we're stuck in a maze trying to get to the cheese. We encounter barriers and try a different route, with the goal of gradually getting to the cheese. As we recover, we hope to be able to get a good perspective on the maze and where the cheese is.
Was it Escher who drew those black and white pictures of mazes and so forth? That's what I think of....anyway, the artist in me started to think of other analogies and metaphors....and I'm reminded of someone writing in a post, "is humor all we have?" I don't think it's the only thing, as I'm sure imagination is another.
That takes me back to the story I read a while ago about the kids trapped in a cave: one boy started to work his way out and made it out of the cave without PTSD. The other children felt scared and paralyzed in the cave and developed PTSD. Not to blame the kids without ptsd, but merely to point out boy had inspiration. Instead of feeling trapped, something was able to give him hope and propel him forward. He saw a way out.
I think inspiration and imagination can guide as as well, so added a few more examples:
I felt like Humpty Dumpty, broken- but I'll put myself together with the help of "All the King's Men"- people who care, faith, medicine, therapy, time- whatever helps.
The past is represented as the bottom of glass steps. I find my way up the steps, and occasionally the glass gets cracked or chips away as I walk higher. But at the top of the steps, I've made it and no longer have to feel or see anything fragile in my past.
The c-ptsd is like a cyclone created by pencil scribble. It sometimes runs havoc in my mind, like the Tasmanian Devil. But sometimes I "place" the cyclone in the chair and try to see it differently so it is milder. Later on I should be able to say, "it was just the wind".
c-ptsd (here not in caps) is like flames- but the flames become ashes, and the survivor as the phoenix rises above it
c-ptsd is like a dragon....but I come by like a knight with an armor, sword and shield that says, "there is no fear, only love surrounds me here"
Darkness falls, but hope dawns on the horizon.
As budding authors we seize the scripts in our heads that read like bad novels and transform them into a language we can understand that makes us happy.
As the ringmaster in a circus gone awry, we change the act and organize the performance to go smoothly and to our liking.
In a courtroom scene, the Inner Critic is on trial, but we find a way to judge him/her innocent, because after all I.C. may actually mean Inner Child.
The wound is festering and an itchy scab forms over it. You want to pick it, but eventually over time it heals and what's left is a scar.
The clock is off. It says you're 6 or 15, but really you're 44. You figure out the inner workings of the "frozen ages", then get the time to come back to the present.
The prize is in the frozen ice cube. You wait desparately to get to it, and time will help melt the cube- then you get to the prize.
The toxic stuff encounters a forest of pure air, clean water and sunshine- a real paradise. You are so heartened that you and your body are able to let go of the toxins and become cleansed and whole.
I responded by saying our inner/outer schemas are like Tinker Toys....we get a set of equipment- the sticks and wooden wheels, and mostly it is left to us to create a manual to figure out how to move along in life. The sticks and wheels get knocked out by traumas, and we need to replace them to get some structure and move on. Sometimes many pieces get knocked out at once, then we feel overwhelmed, but do what we can to scrape by.
Another analogy: we're stuck in a maze trying to get to the cheese. We encounter barriers and try a different route, with the goal of gradually getting to the cheese. As we recover, we hope to be able to get a good perspective on the maze and where the cheese is.
Was it Escher who drew those black and white pictures of mazes and so forth? That's what I think of....anyway, the artist in me started to think of other analogies and metaphors....and I'm reminded of someone writing in a post, "is humor all we have?" I don't think it's the only thing, as I'm sure imagination is another.
That takes me back to the story I read a while ago about the kids trapped in a cave: one boy started to work his way out and made it out of the cave without PTSD. The other children felt scared and paralyzed in the cave and developed PTSD. Not to blame the kids without ptsd, but merely to point out boy had inspiration. Instead of feeling trapped, something was able to give him hope and propel him forward. He saw a way out.
I think inspiration and imagination can guide as as well, so added a few more examples:
I felt like Humpty Dumpty, broken- but I'll put myself together with the help of "All the King's Men"- people who care, faith, medicine, therapy, time- whatever helps.
The past is represented as the bottom of glass steps. I find my way up the steps, and occasionally the glass gets cracked or chips away as I walk higher. But at the top of the steps, I've made it and no longer have to feel or see anything fragile in my past.
The c-ptsd is like a cyclone created by pencil scribble. It sometimes runs havoc in my mind, like the Tasmanian Devil. But sometimes I "place" the cyclone in the chair and try to see it differently so it is milder. Later on I should be able to say, "it was just the wind".
c-ptsd (here not in caps) is like flames- but the flames become ashes, and the survivor as the phoenix rises above it
c-ptsd is like a dragon....but I come by like a knight with an armor, sword and shield that says, "there is no fear, only love surrounds me here"
Darkness falls, but hope dawns on the horizon.
As budding authors we seize the scripts in our heads that read like bad novels and transform them into a language we can understand that makes us happy.
As the ringmaster in a circus gone awry, we change the act and organize the performance to go smoothly and to our liking.
In a courtroom scene, the Inner Critic is on trial, but we find a way to judge him/her innocent, because after all I.C. may actually mean Inner Child.
The wound is festering and an itchy scab forms over it. You want to pick it, but eventually over time it heals and what's left is a scar.
The clock is off. It says you're 6 or 15, but really you're 44. You figure out the inner workings of the "frozen ages", then get the time to come back to the present.
The prize is in the frozen ice cube. You wait desparately to get to it, and time will help melt the cube- then you get to the prize.
The toxic stuff encounters a forest of pure air, clean water and sunshine- a real paradise. You are so heartened that you and your body are able to let go of the toxins and become cleansed and whole.
