#5 The blind spot

The blind spot is a location on the optic disk in the eye that is characterised by having no photoreceptor cells and therefore insensitive to light and visual stimuli. In other words, a tiny part of the human eye is not receptive to the visual information that is normally transmitted to the optic nerve and the brain.

This black spot makes us theoretically partially blind and yet does not prevent us from seeing perfectly well. This is an extraordinary phenomenon that despite its presence does not reduce the visual field and our ability to see through the eye.

I often refer to this as a metaphor to explain how we can relate to the demons of emotional hurt.

As human beings, we are exposed to emotions that can sometimes result in actions and thoughts that we may find very difficult to consciously make sense of. These emotions are experienced with various degrees of distress and pain that, at their most extreme, can feel like absorbing the entirety of our own self and our ability to contemplate anything beyond it. This feels like as if our entire field of vision was obstructed and as if the blind spot had grown so big that our entire ability to 'see' was compromised.

The blind spot is only a tiny part of the eye. The remarkable complexity of the organ cannot be reduced to the singularity of one of its parts. Equally, the part of us that suffers and carries emotional hurt remains a part amongst the many other parts that make us who we are and what we have become as a person amid other persons.

It is possible for what may feel overwhelming to recede, and for our field of vision to slowly open again. With time, the blind spot of emotional hurt can be reduced to the point of not preventing us from 'seeing'. It remains a part of our apparatus of existence, and the awareness of its presence reminds us of our own vulnerability. But, like for the blind spot in the eye, its plain presence does not compromise the entirety of our visual field.    

#4 When personal trauma intertwines with collective trauma

A client came to see me one week saying that she was upset that as she was waiting in the reception area for her appointment nobody had been observing the minute of silence for the victims of the Paris attacks on the 13^th November 2015.

She did not know that I had myself been sitting in silence before greeting her.

She said that it felt important to talk about what happened and how it had left her with a sense of fear and powerlessness. She said that people talked factually about what happened but that the opportunities to share how it affects us emotionally were scarce.

She said that as she listened to the news over the weekend she had felt an urge to reach out and to hug her children and grandchildren. I did not tell her that I had felt the same urge towards my son.

 

She was in the process of working through some of her past trauma that resulted from assaults, abuse and attacks on her own person. I thought to myself that the bodies of innocent people had also been assaulted and attacked by the terrorists and their murderous acts.

She was in a process of reconnecting with parts of herself that for a long time she had disconnected from because of the intolerable pain and hurt. She came with a picture of herself as a young child that she was particularly fond of. The child was smiling and this might have been the last time she smiled before being caught up in dread and incomprehensible situations. 

 

She decided to take care of that child who had been living in fear and had been powerless to do anything about the situation she had been put in. She had been talking for some time about making use of a box where things could be laid to rest. She had a box at home and I suggested she could bring it with her.

She placed the box on the table. It was finely decorated with delicate drawings. She wondered how best to use it. She felt that she wanted to place in it the picture of the innocent and vulnerable child. She wrapped a small piece of fabric around the picture as if she was tucking in the child. She gave her a kiss and said ‘I love you’.

As we both looked at the box, we noticed a small word repeatedly printed on the different sides. That word was ‘Paris’. We smiled. Her personal story became intertwined with a collective tragedy.

We stayed in silence for a minute. This time we shared the moment.