Every so often Peter and I find we've bought tickets to a lot of things which happen to be all within a few days of each other. Gigs, theatre, exhibitions. It can be tiring but also great for our brains and wellbeing. Everyone should curate their own mini-festival every so often. And so it was recently with our Festival of Kim Gordon. Kim was touring with her band, but we were also treated to an exhibition of her artwork. Then an 'in conversation' artist talk was announced, so we jumped at the opportunity to hear her talk about her art practice.
It was a whirlwind few days - exhibition on a rainy and cold Saturday, artist talk on Tuesday and gig on Wednesday. Come Thursday I has a smile a mile wide, and was so inspired by watching 71 year old Kim weild her creativity in multiple formats. I always take photos, as I've been a visual documentor of my life since I was given my first camera at around 12 (I think). In this respect, as an adult, Instagram is my happy place.
The following week I got a DM in Instagram from someone who ran an online zine and asked to use my images (credited) in their post. We had a lovely chat via messenger and this week the zine post was published. I was so surprised and sat beaming at their kind words. It was funny, and in all honesty thrilling, to see my photos used in a different context accompanying someone else's words.
This is the second thrill I've had regarding band photos I've taken. Earlier in the year the Dandy Warhols toured. They were reposting (and crediting) fan photos to sum up each show. They chose a selection of my photos for the gig I was at! It felt surreal, seeing my photos reshared on their Instagram and Facebook pages. Both these instances help bolster my confidence. Maybe I am ok at this thing I love doing?
I had another session with my psych on Friday. We talked through how I felt after the EMDR last week. I've noticed aching muscles, highlighting how much anxiety I hold in my body. Self care now comes in the form of the occassional remedial massage to help move the aches and pains. She then said, so we were working on your feeling of worthiness last week. How do you feel now? A wave of emotion hit me. I had tears just brimming and a knot in my throat. We did another round of EMDR focussing on this. Watching her hand move, thinking 'I am worthy' over and over. It honestly becomes quite comical after a while. Like any word you repeat over and over, which begins to feel like a jumble of letters without meaning the more you repeat it. Occasionally though, a wave of tears would surface. My worthiness rating stayed at a solid 4 out of 7.
She then got me to sit with my eyes closed, going through a mindfulness exercise. Looking within myself, she wanted to know where the tears were coming from. How old was I? The source of the emotions seemed to stem from someone older than primary school but not quite a teenager yet. She asked if I had someone who made me feel safe. Immediately I thought of Peter, and felt an overwhelming surge of emotion at how completely safe I feel with him, and how protective he is of me. No...it had to be someone from when I was the age of the source of pain. I chose my middle brother Dale. Did I also have a hero around that time? I smiled, saying it would have been a pop star. Who? she asked. I said someone from Duran Duran. Even with my eyes closed I could sense her smiling. Was it John? What was the singers name? Simon Le Bon, I answered, but admitted that Roger Taylor the drummer was my favourite. She got me to picture my younger self, with Dale and Roger flanking me. I then visualised walking forward to confront my Dad. What do you want to say to him? I sobbed, with shaking hands up to my mouth. Wiping tears away, I said 'your yelling is scary'. 'Your anger hurts us'. I repeated the second line twice, then broke down crying.
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| Braces, bad hair and my walls covered in Roger Taylor |
A few more tissues later, my psych asked if there was somewhere safe in the house to go. I said 'my bedroom'. I then imagined myself, supported by Dale and Roger Taylor all going into my childhood bedroom. We sat on the bed quietly. Would I be playing a game? No, I answered, I would have been listening to music. She told me to breath and rest. 'There's nowhere to go. Nothing you have to do. Just rest...really rest' she repeated. Eyes still closed, I could hear her move. I knew she'd gone to pick up her laptop. Thinking she was using my quiet time to write notes, suddenly I heard familiar synthesiser sounds. My psych had googled Duran Duran songs and was playing Save a Prayer.
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