Ever since I was a little girl, I remember having mental cyclones.
I would escape my house to the field behind it – climb the property fence to the solitude of the “other side,” and find my favorite tree. Chin in hand, I’d sit and think. And think.
I don’t remember everything on my thinking agenda, but probably a lot of the subject matter involved my unfair, explosive father. I wondered how he could be so mean. I wondered why he didn’t seem to appreciate me and my accomplishments like my mother did. I wondered why he just had to be such a complete jerk. I would consider my options for leaving my home for good.
My feelings would inevitably arise out of the thinking session… usually painful. I never was very good at sitting with my pain. Since I wasn’t able to feel the feelings and let them go, I guess I just tried to think them away. You know – “figure things out.” I psycho-analyzed the situation long before I had any idea what that meant.
One thought would lead to another and another… and every once in awhile, I would think I had it all under control in those quick “ah-ha” moments which would immediately vanish into the following idea… until, finally, I had completely forgotten what I was thinking about at all, and my mind was worked up into a frenzied storm, with the thoughts and emotions circling around faster and faster, leaving me dizzy and giving me a pounding headache.
And then I would go home without solving anything at all.