Melancholics and trauma

A reader asked how melancholics express love and affection, physically and emotionally, etc.

I feel like l need to understand why he takes forever to be close to me, doesn’t seem to like physical touch (which l think is related to past trauma) despite me providing a safe zone.

I don’t know the person in question, so this is more of an educated guess based on my own experiences and my interactions with other melancholics.

Trauma

First I would say that it most likely is related to past trauma, or the internal adaptations he’s made to the past trauma.

In a melancholic, trauma could produce adaptations like detachment/dissociation, hypervigilance, agitation, and so on.

Physical touch could be difficult because he’s basically in fight-or-flight mode, feeling in danger and ready to run or lash out at the slightest hint of a threat. His nervous system could be amped up, and every sound or sensation is magnified and feels like a violent imposition that is putting him in danger.

That’s one option anyway.

Alternatively, he could be detaching/dissociating from unpleasant emotions, trying not to feel them. If this is the case, then physical touch would be unwelcome because he’s already doing his best not to feel anything. Physical contact from a loved-one would normally have a relaxing, grounding effect, but in his case it would also bring him closer to his unwanted painful emotions.

Temperament

Dissociation and hypervigilance are pretty common responses regardless of temperament, though I suspect melancholics are more prone to internalise and hold on to past trauma than the other temperaments.

But in addition to mechanisms like dissociation and hypervigilance, melancholics will also respond to trauma in uniquely melancholic ways.

Because melancholics are idealists, they will be drawn to idealising their response. That means they will look for ultimate, perfect, and meaningful responses to their suffering.

You can tell a sanguine or phlegmatic to “learn to let go” but a melancholic will baulk at “letting go” because it implies that the problem is not as significant as it feels to them.

Letting go sounds like “forgetting” and since when has a problem ever gone away just by forgetting about it?

So a melancholic will be drawn to radical, idealised solutions to their internal suffering. Solutions like…rejecting all intimate or dependent human relationships, wishing they could live alone like a hermit on a mountaintop, somehow gaining complete control over their emotions, or simply ceasing to rely on or experience emotions in the first place.

These are the kinds of ‘solutions’ that will really just mess you up a whole lot more, but they appeal to the melancholic because they are inspiring. They hold meaning and promise a lasting solution to the problem of suffering.

What I’m getting at here is that a melancholic might have developed ideals and (unrealistic) goals that further inhibit them from accepting or expressing affection.

I’ve said before that being a melancholic is like being lost in a fog where only the biggest and brightest landmarks can be (dimly) seen. So imagine you’ve grown up in the fog, unable to respond adequately to your own suffering by altering your environment, and this predicament has left a deep and long-lasting impression on you that you never ever forget…

If you can’t change your environment (due to lack of knowledge, power, or both) then all you can do is change yourself.

Maybe the best you can do is try to stop those painful or unpleasant emotions from having control over you.

Melancholics may then choose to identify with examples of human beings who are emotionally detached and invulnerable, in the belief that this is an attainable and desirable way to live.

If this is the case with your melancholic, then he might not know how to reconcile this idealised role or imagined invulnerability with the more simple and healthy enjoyment of expressing and receiving affection.

Summary

All of this is potentially complicated.

In the first instance I would consider either the detached/dissociated or hypervigilant/fight-or-flight responses as possible explanations for avoiding accepting/expressing affection.

Both of those can run quite deep, and people do not necessarily recognise that they are in these states.

The secondary thing is the idealised role that could mean he has past or current ideals that make it hard for him to accept emotional vulnerability and intimacy. He might not even realise that these ideals are incomplete or unrealistic or not good models for a healthy human existence.

If this sounds daunting, just bear in mind that all people of different temperaments have issues and problems and faults. Melancholics are just more likely to internalise it rather than blaming it all on other people or taking it out on others.

Obviously none of this is a substitute for professional counselling etc.

So bearing in mind my non-professional status, there are a couple of ‘themes’ that might help. If possible, you could talk to him about how simple physical affection makes you feel relaxed and happy, and ask him how he feels about it.

Melancholics seem to love talking/thinking about themselves, and a spirit of genuine inquiry (as opposed to a challenge or interrogation) is usually welcome.

After all, if you start breaking love down into more basic actions and feelings, isn’t it that we feel relaxed and happy when we’re with someone we love? And physical contact tells us that the person we care about finds us lovable and attractive. Verbal affection and “reaching out” tells us that we’re important to the person we care about, and vice versa.

If you can find a way to talk about it, and discuss how he feels, I think that might prove fruitful. If he’s melancholic, he may not have a very clear sense of how he feels or why he feels that way. If there are repeated patterns like it taking him a long time to get close, then he might be able to make observations and work out what’s going on.

If you mean that each time he sees you, it takes him a while to physically get close to you, then bear in mind that it might simply be taking time for his physiological and mental state to change. That is, if his “normal” phys. and mental state is fight-or-flight, then yes it will take quite a while to cool down in your presence, to a level where he is calm enough to accept and express affection.

By becoming aware of patterns like these (if that’s what is actually going on) we can learn to adjust.

Anyhow, I hope some of this is relevant and helpful. Since I don’t know the circumstances or the individuals involved it’s quite general and may not be appropriate for your situation.

Reflecting on love and neglect

I’ve noticed more and more of these reflections in life.

Say that someone you love is neglecting you.

That neglect is painful.

But it’s not just you who are the victim of neglect. If they love you, yet they neglect you, then they are implicitly neglecting their own love as well.

In that sense, their neglect of you reflects their neglect of themselves, since love is central to our existence.

But there’s more.

Because in order to be neglected by someone you love, you must accept that neglect. Unless you are a child, you are a participant in the neglect you suffer, for as long as you put up with it.

And that acceptance of neglect implies…yes, you guessed it, a further neglect of love in oneself.

So you neglect me, and in so doing neglect yourself. And I accept your neglect, and so doing neglect myself too.

There’s something truly mysterious going on here.

The only way for me to stop being neglected by you is to stop neglecting myself, which means no longer accepting the neglect.

In fact, if I keep on accepting your neglect, then not only am I participating in my own neglect, but I’m participating in your own self-neglect as well.

To stop accepting neglect might look like rejecting the relationship. It isn’t. It’s setting a condition or a boundary. You can quite rightly say “I’d still love to see you, but I no longer accept neglect.” It’s then up to the other person to decide what they want to do.

Some of us are so good at neglecting ourselves, we find it hard not to neglect others too, even the people we care most about in the world.

It’s not a coincidence. If you can treat yourself with utter neglect, of course you can do it to someone you love. It’d be almost miraculous if you didn’t.

We have this idea that loving someone means putting up with suffering for their sake. But it’s important to know when your suffering is and isn’t helping the person you love.

In this case, letting someone you love neglect you is not helping them, rather it’s participating in their own self-neglect, and likely your own as well.

It’s fascinating and significant that we are brought together with people like this in life. The people we love are very much on a journey with us. And while it may seem a platitude sometimes to say that love is the answer, in the end it always is.

Emotional regulation and chronic pain

I came across Ralph after a reader pointed me to his facebook group. Ralph overcame AS and now helps others to understand the psychogenic causes of their chronic pain.

He’s just started a series of videos dealing with various issues, and I was just so excited by what he’s presented in the first one I watched, I had to share it.

I can really relate to this – being unable to differentiate between different types of high and low mood or emotion. I wonder if it’s related to the Melancholic temperament?

Love and doubt: the central truth of existence

I’ve been working for a long time to arrive at the central truth of my existence.

In search of answers I’ve read extensively the works of mystics, saints, sages and great teachers from a variety of religious and spiritual traditions.

I’ve read New Age books and talked to psychics and healers.

I’ve studied philosophy in an academic context, and theology in a private one.

I’ve read various texts from psychology and psychotherapy, undergone counselling and hypnosis, examined my quest from the point of view of mental illness and personality disorders.

I’ve tried Yoga, Qigong, martial arts, reiki, and various forms of meditation and prayer.

And through all this I’ve spent more than eighteen years analysing, questioning, struggling and striving, tying myself in knots and trying to untie them again.

What have I learned?

Some parameters

I’ve learned that the pursuit of some truths is unhelpful.

It eventually became clear to me that my path was different from most other people I know. It took longer still for me to stop apologising for this.

Part of me – both for intellectual reasons and for personal ones – has sought to universalise my conclusions. If, for example, I had the thought that “all wealth comes from God”, I would immediately think of counter-examples: drug-dealers, pimps, exploitative corporations and businesses, where clearly people are making money from the exploitation and harm of others.

Is their wealth “from God”?

Well, even asking the question is departing from my original intent. I want to get to the central truth of my existence, not come up with a universalisable moral theology of economics. The counter-examples my mind produces are not a part of my experience. To even consider them in this context is to set up obstacles to what is clearly a more faithful and God-centred view: that all wealth comes from God.

In other words, you can always find excuses to shake your faith and trust in God and in love. You can always find reasons to doubt.

So I took from philosophy a parameter that we could call subjectivism, so long as we don’t get distracted by the broader (and decreasingly relevant) context of that term in philosophy.

Subjectivism in the context of my search for truth means that I am not going to accept at face value the things that are not a part of my experience.

Many bad things happen in the world, don’t they? But in my experience, these global events are just news reports. I’m not looking to call God to account for earthquakes and wars on the other side of the world, I’m looking to call Him to account for my own subjective sense of something wrong in my life, and my experience.

Charity begins at home, or as John Wyclif apparently put it in the 14th Century: Charite schuld bigyne at hem-self.

What I’m looking for is the truth of my existence, and searching for objections in what I have heard from others’ experiences is an unnecessary constraint on finding answers.

Because there are answers I will find that defy the worldly view, and it would be ridiculous to turn to the world to confirm or repudiate answers I’ve sought from God, when the whole point of these answers is that the world could not provide them!

Nothing is impossible for God.

Over time I’ve become aware that my experience is profoundly shaped by my own beliefs, choices, and emotional states. I might be conscious of real, insurmountable limitations and obstacles in the world, and yet those limitations and obstacles have simply evaporated as my belief in them, or my underlying emotional state, has changed.

Like the previous parameter, this often emerges as a conflict between faith and doubt. Love may point in directions that the world or our own experience say is impossible, implausible, or even undesirable. It helps to remember that the limitations and obstacles presented by the world or our past or current experience are at least shaped by, and sometimes wholly constructed from our beliefs and emotions.

This can be as simple as a depressed or anxious person projecting their own negative thoughts onto others, and anticipating social rejection. Or it can be as profound as admitting that the whole of space and time is known to me only as a series of impressions, and that all existence and all consciousness emanates from, and participates in, the being we call God.

God could repair the world, or end it at any moment. Don’t talk about what is and is not possible based on the limitations of your own experience, when our own existence is barely distinguishable from a dream.

Love makes room for itself.

The obstacles and limitations that present themselves in the face of love are not substantial. They subsist foremost in our own doubts and fears, and the corresponding beliefs. They are only as consequential as we allow them to be.

Hence we can choose love over doubt, trusting that the conditions that seem to validate doubt will disappear or be resolved or somehow overcome through love itself.

Otherwise we are caught in an absurd situation, with love or hope that can’t be reconciled with “the world” or our own experience, precisely when what we yearn for, and what brings us true fulfillment, must necessarily repudiate the limitations and obstacles coming from the world.

So with all these parameters in mind, I’ve found that my experience of suffering arises because of complex sets of beliefs and emotions in my own mind, which both shape my experience and are reinforced by it.

If I want to know why my experience feels always insufficient for happiness, then I only need to look at the fears, doubts, and sense of insufficiency in myself.

How do I feel about life, about myself, and about the world?

It turns out that my whole psyche is packed full of conflicted and negative beliefs and emotions.

But by tracing those chains of cause-and-effect backwards, I’ve come at last to the fundamental choice from which all the subsequent flawed efforts stem.

The fundamental choice is a choice between love and doubt. I describe it as doubt rather than fear, because doubt is much more insidious and plausible. Yet doubt originally meant fear or dread anyway. It comes originally from the same root as “two”, and implies duality, double-ness, and the uncertainty evoked by suddenly having two alternatives to consider.

Recapitulating the fall.

Again without seeking a comprehensive theological framework: our original, fundamental choice between love and doubt reflects and recapitulates the fall of man in the garden of Eden.

In essence, human beings were at one with God and in paradise. Yet the serpent tempted them to doubt. 

In Genesis 3, the serpent essentially casts doubt on God’s command not to eat from the tree of knowledge, and defies God’s justification of the command. He presents to Eve, and by proxy to Adam, an alternative option, an option in which God – who is Love itself – has ulterior motives.

And from that moment erupts human suffering with temptation, blame-shifting, and fear dominating the human experience.

This doubt arises in our own lives continually. We have continual opportunities to choose between doubt and love. Yet for most of us the original doubt has grown and developed into a convoluted web of subordinate doubts, fears, temptations, and other psychological maneuvers, all designed to help us avoid, overcome, or shift the suffering that arose from that original doubt.

The original doubt would have been reflected back to us as it shaped our experience. In a vicious circle, our experience would have seemed to vindicate the doubt, in much the same way that a self-conscious, anxious person may act in ways that elicit negative attention from others.

The experience of doubt is painful, since it would have seemed to nullify or render-hollow the prior experience of love, just as the serpent cast doubt on the goodness of God’s motives in commanding the first humans not to touch the tree of knowledge.

To escape this pain, what can we do? Well, we can blame other people for our suffering. Or we can blame ourselves for our suffering. Either option gives us a sense that maybe we can regain the love we lost when we entertained doubt.

But both are false. And both elicit a chain of psychological “moves” that attempt to shift the pain around in the vain hope of eventually removing it.

If you blame yourself for your suffering, then yes you have the hope of changing and redeeming yourself, but you also experience an additional pain of self-blame and recrimination.

And now you must pursue self-improvement and redemption.

It is no coincidence that such a central theme of Christianity is the insufficiency of our efforts to redeem ourselves, and the depiction of Christ’s death on the cross as the one true and eternal sacrifice for our redemption.

I’ve never appreciated the idea that God required a sacrifice, rather it is we who needed to know that our attempts at redemption would never succeed.

We can’t go forward from doubt into love. We need to go back to the original choice, to our own choice and repudiate doubt at the most basic level. That’s why the centrality of God’s love is the most prominent theme in Christianity.

If you choose doubt, no amount of love can overcome it. If you choose love, no trace of doubt can shake you.

The Weight-Loss Paradox: paperback re-release

I’ve re-released the paperback version of The Weight-Loss Paradox: an enlightened approach to body weight and diet. You can buy it from Createspace – which gives me a better share of the royalties or from Amazon which might give some readers better postage options.

If you’re in the UK, Canada or Europe, your respective Amazon stores may be cheapest in terms of postage. Word is that Createspace orders all ship from the US, whereas Amazon orders may be printed in either the US, Europe, or the UK.

I redesigned the cover for The Weight-Loss Paradox basically because the original looked great online but not so great in hard-copy. I also tweaked the font and print size. Using a different picture of the same model makes it easier to see his awesome tattoos, which would have meant cutting off his arms in the previous pic.

While I’m at it, the paperback version of To Create a World is also available, and I’m very happy with how it turned out. I just gave my first ever copy to a dear friend who had helped me when I was writing it, and her reaction to seeing it as a real book was very rewarding.

Everyone who’s seen it has been impressed with the quality. As above, you can order it through Createspace if you want me to get a better share of the list price, or through Amazon if it offers you better postage.

Apologies to my Australian would-be readers. Postage from the US is prohibitive, and alternative options are not enticing at this stage. I might have to end up simply ordering a couple of boxes from the US and mailing them out myself.

How I overcame ankylosing spondylitis

Reader Stacey asked for an update on my AS and how I’m now faring, so I thought it would be a good idea to do a blog post on my current status and how I got to where I am now.

The disease

It started back in late 2010/early 2011. I’d gotten married and we’d bought a unit, so it was a time of intense and significant changes.

I was working on the unit – cleaning and painting and fixing things – and feeling pretty terrible about it. I’d never thought much about owning property, and with the housing market so difficult to get into, it was a big reality-check to realise we could only afford a one-bedroom unit on a busy road.

The unit was not in good condition, and I was not happy or enthused about moving in. Yet I felt I just had to get it done, put my feelings aside, and just keep going until it was ready.

That was when I had my first bout of iritis/uveitis. I thought it might have been caused by the anti-mould additive I had mixed into the bathroom ceiling paint.

But I tested positive to HLA-B27, an antigen associated with ankylosing spondylitis and other auto-immune conditions. As wikipedia states: “while 90% of people with ankylosing spondylitis (AS) are HLA-B27 positive, only a small fraction of people with HLA-B27 ever develop AS.”

I had recurrent episodes of iritis, and each time was asked if I had back or neck or other joint pain, with the implication that I could expect to develop these symptoms at a later point. Eventually the ophthalmologist referred me to a rheumatologist “just in case”.

I well remember the first time I felt the stiffness and pain in my sacro-iliac joint.

I was sitting in an armchair in our unit, reading some fantasy book on my kindle, and I remember thinking “is this all there is?” Is that what life is all about? We work to earn money, and when we’re not working we distract ourselves with entertainment. That was never the kind of life I wanted to lead, and yet that’s where I’d ended up.

When I got up from the chair, I noticed a dull ache near my hip.

I thought the ache was from sitting in the chair for too long.

By morning it had gotten worse. I don’t remember the exact timeline, but it got to a point where the pain was so severe I could barely walk. I rang the rheumatology clinic and had them move my appointment forward.

I clearly remember taking tiny steps towards the front door of the hospital. It was one of the most intense pains I’ve ever experienced.

The rheumatology registrar cheerfully agreed that I’d developed to the next stage of AS. He put me on celebrex (an NSAID), ordered x-rays, and explained to me the great new drugs available that would suppress my immune system and slow the progression of the disease – a progression that would see my joints slowly calcify.

The celebrex worked well, but the doctor was keen for me to get everything lined up for subsidised disease-modifying antirheumatic drugs.

Being in the public system, I ended up seeing a new doctor each time I went in – every six months. They all had a similar perspective, though some were more diligent and “by the book” and would order blood tests and x-rays, while others would just tell me to come back if anything changed.

Some were keen to get me on the more powerful drugs, while others seemed content to let me just use celebrex as required. I asked more and more questions as time went on, but received slightly different answers from different doctors.

For example, some spoke confidently about what I would expect to see as the disease progressed, while others were more tentative about the actual diagnosis.

Eventually I pressed the issue, and one of the registrars explained that…well given the history – the iritis/uveitis, the HLA-B27, the inflammation in the SI joints, past history of joint pain (my left ankle would get inexplicably inflamed at times), my positive response to the NSAIDS, and the fact that the pain was worst in the mornings and after sitting, all suggested that it was likely to be AS.

Looking for a change

The pain was at its worst in the mornings, and would hurt like hell when I tried to roll over in bed or get up out of bed.

It also interfered with my martial arts practice – most gross movements were fine, but there were occasional moves that would put pressure on my SI joint and remind me that I was still in the middle of a flare-up.

In a weird way, I wasn’t that upset about the disease. Occasionally I thought about the progression, and that really terrified me. I didn’t like taking the NSAIDs because I knew the relief they brought was only temporary – they wouldn’t halt the disease progression.

But still, it was possible for me to ignore the disease in most of my waking life.

I think that’s what got to me in the end. The fact that I wasn’t upset about having this illness when really it made no sense to me. If I started thinking about it, I felt angry and annoyed that my stupid immune system was inflicting this damage on my own body.

I used to believe that this kind of thing had meaning. I used to believe there was a purpose and a direction to life, and having an auto-immune disease was not some kind of random, meaningless affliction.

Besides, other things in life were going quite well. I was reasonably happy, and involved in a lot of activities. Why not take another look at this disease, dig a little deeper, and try to work out what was causing it?

I spent some time looking into the role that stress plays in diseases like AS. The evidence was suggestive, but incomplete. So when I asked one of my doctors if she thought stress could play a role in the disease, she quite truthfully replied that there is no evidence for it.

But as far as I could tell, there was no evidence against it either.

There was evidence showing that people with traumatic childhood experiences are more likely to experience chronic diseases later in life. There was evidence around the relationship between inflammation and anxiety and depression. There was evidence around the relationship between emotional states and inflammatory markers in the body.

But no, there was not yet evidence that stress or psychological factors of some sort might trigger the flare-up of an autoimmune disease like AS.

Absence of evidence is not evidence of absence.

So I decided to revert to a principle I used to believe before I lost my ideals. The principal was that suppressed, unaddressed negative emotions will eventually overflow into some kind of physical manifestation.

Dr John Sarno – requiescat in pace –

I just googled Sarno only to find out that he passed away at the age of 93 on 22nd June this year.

Sarno’s basic premise was that various chronic ailments – starting with back pain – were psychological in origin. Not that the pain wasn’t real, but that the body created real pain to serve a psychological purpose.

With a Freudian perspective, Sarno taught his patients that the pain was created to suppress ‘unacceptable’ emotions. Sarno found that many of his patients were cured simply by learning (and accepting) that this was the real mechanism underlying their pain, while others required in-depth psychotherapy to further elucidate the emotional cause.

I read Sarno’s books, and found them inspiring. Yet I wasn’t one of those who recovered simply by learning about the psychological cause.

I recommend Sarno to anyone with chronic ailments, but with the caveat that my own solution proved to be a little different, or perhaps more nuanced than the books I read would suggest.

I also discovered it was possible to let the search for a cure become a cause of stress in itself.

Perfectionism and emotional themes

Sarno and his supporters identified a set of driven, perfectionist personality traits that seemed to correspond to these psychogenic pains.

The problem is that it’s easy for a driven, perfectionist type of person to become driven and perfectionist about overcoming their illness.

This is made all the worse by the knowledge that some people are cured just by learning Sarno’s theory and accepting it.

Why wasn’t I cured that way? Maybe I wasn’t trying hard enough? Maybe I wasn’t being diligent enough in analysing the emotions behind the symptoms?

I kept looking for more information that developed on Sarno’s work.

Eventually I came across a set of youtube videos by a guy named Richard, who had overcome back pain symptoms very similar to my own (but with a different diagnosis), using Sarno’s theory.

Hearing other people’s accounts of overcoming their pain is always encouraging, but Richard included a timeline of his recovery that showed it hadn’t been instantaneous.

It helped a great deal to know that an instant and complete recovery was not the “correct” result, and that I wasn’t necessarily doing something wrong if I didn’t recover immediately.

I emailed Richard in late 2013 asking for more information and he gave the following reply:

can you trace the pain back to a very first time you experienced it?  the place/circumstances of the first occurrence might give you clues about what the mental issue is.

i do believe it takes some discipline after first hearing about this idea / reading his book to really effect a full recovery, in terms of eg tracking and experimenting with different themes.  in the end i had a collection of several emotional themes, including time deadlines, accomplishment goals, and also mental conditioning issues (eg i got used to feeling pain in the mornings), which could all be independent of each other.

try keeping a journal or notebook to keep track of which themes you get results with, at which times.  you can even write down the themes that don’t really work for you, just to make it even more systematic.  i wouldn’t be surprised if it takes a few weeks just to work out all the issues to see lasting improvement.  it really is like learning a new skill, and just as rewarding.

try not to get discouraged if you don’t effect a full recovery right away, and keep at it.

In the end it actually took me another whole year to work out the specific cause.

Richard was right about the themes. My old notes contain lists of all the sources of pressure or stress in my life, and there was a lot going on at that time.

But there was something specific and nuanced about the flare-ups of AS, and I think that’s why it took me so long to overcome them.

Shifting gears

Following Richard’s advice I had developed a much clearer impression of what a perfectionistic, driven, stressful and intense person I was.

I had also come to realise that I was suppressing the emotional symptoms of this stress and intensity.

There’s a section in my old notes where I rated my pain from AS as 7 out of 10. I then rated my subjective emotional stress as 4 out of 10. But then I considered my objective behaviour – how driven I was and how many things I was trying to achieve, and how often I was thinking about them, and awarded myself 8 out of 10 for this self-imposed pressure.

So, I was under immense pressure, but I felt fine! Great! I just had these bouts of severe pain in my SI joints, and the prospect of a slowly crippling disease ahead of me…

Finally, in the midst of self-scrutiny and observation, I had another flare-up and was self-aware enough to ask what had preceded this specific flare-up.

I had noticed a change in my state of mind, like I had shifted gears mentally. I tried to work out what had caused this shift in gears but couldn’t locate it.

Time went on, and finally another flare-up occurred. This time I knew exactly what had prompted the change in my mind, the shift in gears.

It was prompted by a decision to try freelance writing professionally. I’d written for a few years as a side-interest, but had lost my main job and decided I would give writing a real try.

At that point I made some kind of deeper commitment or decision. I felt like a deeper part of me was assenting to this idea that “from now on, I just have to write. Do nothing but write, and keep writing no matter what.”

I realised that this decision was the trigger for a change in my mental state that was soon followed by a flare-up of inflammation in my SI joints. The change in mental state was characterised by a subjective improvement in my mood, despite an objective increase in self-imposed pressure.

In other words, I located the exact point at which I had agreed to suppress any emotional resistance to achieving my new goal.

Reversing the decision

Having identified the decision that triggered the flare-up, I knew that I had to reverse it, give myself permission to relax and let my emotional resistance resurface.

This was not easy, because the whole point was that I believed “I have to keep writing!” My “just do it!” mentality had a lot of weight behind it.

But all the work I had done to find the trigger for my AS made it obvious that if I didn’t make a change I would just continue to suffer.

I reversed the decision by telling myself specifically “It’s okay if you never write another article in your life.” And “It’s okay if you are poor and unemployed for the rest of your life”.

These are things that I felt were manifestly not okay! But that’s exactly why I had to accept them.

I could feel my internal resistance to these thoughts, but I could also feel a kind of relief, a letting go of tension that I hadn’t been conscious of.

It really is okay if I never write another book, article, or blog post again in my entire life. It’s completely okay.

It’s okay if I never amount to anything in life. It’s completely okay.

Relief!

My SI pain went away as I progressively reversed the decision. From memory there were one or two subsequent flare-ups, but they were milder and I caught them early, reversing the relevant decisions behind them.

One final mistake

I didn’t make a big deal of it in my notes. I keep looking for the bit that says “Yes! Solved it! No more pain!” But it’s not there.

The reason is that in between flare-ups I had developed a different kind of pain in my lower back. This pain didn’t flare-up, it was continuous. I felt it in the mornings when I got out of bed, and occasionally triggered it when my back was under strain.

I spent a lot of time trying to overcome this back pain in the same way that I had overcome my SI joint pain, thinking they were the same thing.

Dr Sarno always insisted his patients undergo medical examination prior to utilising his psychogenic theory. The point was to rule out other causes of the pain.

I assumed my lower back pain was another symptom of AS, that it was psychogenic, and caused by stress.

But eventually I discovered the lower back pain was purely mechanical. It had developed as I tried to physically compensate for my SI joint stiffness – my lower back started to bend more and more to take pressure off my inflamed SI joints.

Conclusion

So that’s how I overcame my AS. I haven’t had a flare-up in 2-3 years.

I think the main lesson from my experience is that some people might have to specifically reverse key decisions in order to neutralise the stress and hence the pain.

I hope this is helpful for some of you with AS or those following Sarno’s theory on psychogenic pain and illness. I’m grateful especially for the late Dr Sarno’s work, and for Richard’s advice that really helped me become more systematic and narrow-down the precise cause for my pain.

Want answers? Learn to ask the right questions

My latest article on MercatorNet explains how to use some key philosophical skills to solve problems in your own life:

“How can I lose weight?” might be the burning question that comes to mind, but that doesn’t mean it is the right question to ask or answer. Most of us “know” how to lose weight, after all. We just have to consume less energy than we expend.

Yet that answer would not satisfy most people. So at this point a philosopher might suspect you are asking the wrong question.

How do we find the right question? How do we, as Bacon put it, question prudently?

Reading the works of past philosophers shows that they spend a lot of time describing situations and problems prior to asking their questions. In other words, they provide context to their questions.

Rushing out and asking “what is the meaning of life?” presumes too much. It presumes we all know what the question means by “meaning” and “life”.

https://www.mercatornet.com/features/view/want-answers-learn-to-ask-the-right-questions

 

Perfect love and complete joy

What’s your emotional baseline?

As a melancholic my inner life has been characterised by anxiety, hypervigilance, doubt, struggle, and frequent dismay or despair.

Being an introvert, my inner life is essentially my entire life.

But I’ve been looking to change my life or my experience of it, and taking a cue from some familiar religious sources, I’ve set upon some emotional goals or ideals: perfect love, and complete joy.

Perfect love comes from 1 John:

There is no fear in love. But perfect love drives out fear, because fear has to do with punishment. The one who fears is not made perfect in love.

Anxiety is a form of fear. It is triggered (however unconsciously) by beliefs about the world, myself, and the intersection of the two. I’ve spent many years analysing my fears and their source, arriving finally at a point where there is nothing more to learn from them.

There is no fear in love, therefore, wherever possible, I’m replacing fear with love. Where it isn’t possible, I try to dig a little deeper and understand what’s going on, what lies behind the fear.

Complete joy comes from John’s Gospel:

Truly, truly, I tell you, whatever you ask the Father in My name, He will give you. Until now you have not asked for anything in My name. Ask and you will receive, so that your joy may be complete.

Joy is the opposite of sorrow. We feel joy in response to good things, sorrow in response to bad. Complete joy implies complete goodness in life – a life so full of good things that our joy is complete.

That’s a pretty high bar to set.

Joy and love are different. We can experience love because God Himself is love, and love is the fundamental nature of reality. As children we experience love naturally. Love is, as it were, our default setting, but for various reasons it is drowned out or obscured by fear and sorrow.

We can experience joy because God is love, and love entails a desire for the good of the one loved. Put simply, when you love someone you want them to be happy.

Hence the reference to prayer, to asking God to give us things, and the assurance that He will do so. The omnipotent deity, the divine being behind and within all existence will shape that existence to our complete joy.

But why has He not already done so? Why do we have to even ask? If the ‘default’ setting is love, why is there so much evil and misery and hatred in the world?

Honestly I don’t know about “the world”, I only know my world. And with deep introspection I’ve found that every misery and hurt and fear in my life has been chosen by me.

That might sound strange or implausible, but it is true. Going back, I can recall key moments where I was threatened or terrified by some external event, and at that moment I assented to fear or anger or hurt and did not assent to love or faith or hope.

Ever since, I’ve maintained those fears and sorrows in my own inner world.

The great commandment is to love God with all your heart, all your soul, and all your mind, and Jesus implores us to remain in His love.

Anxiety means I am not remaining in that love, and while this shouldn’t be a cause for feeling guilty or blameworthy in an emotional sense, it does mean we are responsible. It is up to us to choose love instead of fear, though it may take a lot of time and effort to discover the moment where the wrong choice was made.

That is why life is not full of joy. We made choices in favour of sorrow and fear instead of love, and we have inwardly maintained those sorrows and fears ever since.

We actively reject love, though we may not be entirely conscious of it. I guess that’s why the commandment refers to all our heart, soul, and mind. All of it. Not just “a lot”.

Jesus said in terms of prayer that:

Therefore I tell you, whatever you ask for in prayer, believe that you have received it, and it will be yours.

But we don’t believe, because we don’t have love. And while we might pray for things we feel we really want, I’ve found deep down that I’m divided. Praying for success when parts of you don’t really want to succeed, because they’re enmeshed in fears and sorrows. Praying for healing when parts of you are content with your disease.

The bottom line is that perfect love and complete joy are immanent, though they may not be imminent. But the more I examine myself and my own experience, the more it seems the resistance is all on my side.

Seven Deadly Landlord Sins

I’ve been sick lately, and have tried not to push myself in the meantime. Or is it that I haven’t tried to push myself? Perhaps we should ask dtcwee, whose latest post invokes Thomas Aquinas on Gluttony to address the temptation to over-landlord:

It’s the dead of night. I get an email from the agent. It’s a problem, nothing urgent. Yet, I draft and re-draft a reply. I call them to try and work through it, and get agitated when I hit voice mail. I’m getting worked up. I can’t sleep. What if it was something I did? What will be the impact?

That’s not me being diligent. That’s me indulging.

Not in food, but in landlording; another activity that, while in moderation provides sustenance, In excess is simply imprudent.

http://dtcwee.blogspot.com.au/2017/05/landlord-sins-gluttony.html

I’m pretty impressed with this application of gluttony to the temptation to excessive diligence. It’s an excellent moral metaphor, and while I feel there ought to be something in Aquinas that addresses the question directly, trying to find something in the Summa without knowing already what it is in Thomistic terms is a recipe for frustration and a temptation to….excessive diligence.