Here Comes The Judge

So I'm here to report another fascinating visit with Therapist. This time around, I had packed up my emotional baggage and dropped it at her curbside. "Porter, help me with my things!"

Anyway, we got onto the topic of social evaluation. For many reasons, I'm hyper-sensitive to being evaluated negatively or criticized by (and here's the strange hitch) people I don't know. Most of that stems from being born with alopecia and having basically little to no hair until fifth grade. As I'm sure we all have experienced, kids can be relentlessly cruel for anyone who stands out. Sometimes it made me want to disappear. Oh yeah, and being nerdy and a late bloomer didn't help either!

Enter the coping skills. I have become a consummate self-monitor and understand my obsessions, faults, and quirks so well. To the point that when I realize I'm overanalyzing too much or being grouchy, I'll make sure to verbally recognize that part of me. I do it so that other people don't have to say it, and if they are thinking it, they know I'm aware of that character flaw. How kooky is that?

Therapist agreed that it had a protective function for me. It's my way to garner acceptance and maintain self-esteem. She called it The Judge. See, The Judge is a part that starts off with a purpose. I listened to The Judge, befriended him. But soon The Judge became something more sinister and malevolent. He tries to take over the true self, gain power. He's digging down into my core, trying to become the real me.

I can totally see this. I'm hardest on myself, but I'm hard on other people, too. It's easy to point a finger, roll eyes, and pound the gavel. Guilty. It's easy to sit in that high leather chair and look down at people from behind the oak monolith desk. But is that really me?

I think I mentioned that Therapist utilizes Gestalt techniques. Primarily, it's important to Gestaltists that people work toward a unified, whole self. That's my crisis. It's me and The Judge.

But how do you erase those old tapes? You hear the voices so much it becomes a song you hum in the shower. The annoying pop song. You don't think about the lyrics, you just sing. And though you can't stand it, something catchy won't let it vanish. The brain is hooked. So what to do? Record over it? Flip it over to the B-side?

I told Therapist it was like being in a fun house of mirrors. I can point fingers all I want, but the reflection is always me. Now I realize it's The Judge who is pointing back. He's the reflection that looks at me and sees the flaws. The imperfections. And in every direction, he's there.

Now that I know what he really represents, it's time to keep him in check. Limit his authority over me. And kick him in the junk. I've had enough of his poisonous whispers. This head isn't big enough for the both of us.

1 comment:

Bubz The Troll said...

"Here Comes The Judge" is an Ol' Dirty Bastard song. It's really funny.