When Care is Confusing
“Who is this really for?”
This blog post is more of a personal reflection on recent experiences. Maybe you can relate, or maybe you know someone who could relate.
In April, I went to Portugal for a Somatic IFS experiential retreat with Susan McConnell (an OG IFS trainer and creator of the Somatic IFS model). One of the [many] cool parts about this retreat is that almost everyone attending was a therapist, however this wasn’t a training, so we didn’t have to be in our therapist roles. Instead, it was a retreat, specifically designed for us to just show up as our regular selves and be taken care of as we process our own “stuff” throughout the week. It was amazing, exhausting, painful, and overall I’m so grateful I was able to go.
Something I noticed while there is how different receiving care in that setting felt for me. A setting where everyone has the tools and support they need to self-regulate, making receiving care feel more clear, refreshing, easier to consent to, and without confusion.
Confusion? What do I mean by that?
Without totally over-sharing, this experience made me realize how much in my life receiving care has been confusing. I realized that in so many examples of someone offering me care, I’ve felt like I’m “supposed to” say yes, and I “should” let someone care for me - but that it often feels like it’s more for them than it is for me.
When I’m struggling and someone offers care, “I’m supposed to say yes, so that they feel better/less anxious about me not doing well”. I realize this thought may sound strange, but it’s felt very true to parts of me for a lot of my life.
So often, when I’m sick, or emotionally struggling somehow, my go-to is to isolate, figure it out on my own, and keep everyone away until I feel better (Hi, avoidant! 👋), then I reconnect afterward. I’m realizing how protective this has been for me, when receiving care hasn’t actually felt caring or safe to me.
Often, it’s felt like more labor on my end, “having to say yes”, and then soothe the other person’s anxiety, reassuring them that I’ll be okay. The “care” in these situations has felt for me like extra labor, and I have parts of me that want to say “I’m not f*&#ing doing that anymore”, especially when I sense anxiety from the person offering.
How might things have been different for me if I had received care from someone with a regulated nervous system, where saying yes felt more clear? Where saying yes didn’t mean I would then have to take care of someone else?
Parts of me are very angry, parts of me are so, so sad, and parts of me are expert detectors of whether offering care is truly coming from a clear place, or an anxious place.
Parts of me wish people in general had more emotional awareness, and could really ask themselves “when I want to offer my care, who is it really for?”
“Am I coming from a regulated place, or is this to soothe my own anxiety about knowing something is not okay?”
Here’s a tip: Imagine offering care to someone you love (i.e. a hug, bringing them soup, etc), and that person says no, they don’t want it.
How would that feel? Would it be okay because they really, truly, have permission to say no?
Or would it feel like rejection? Would it make you feel angry or resentful or sad? Did you have an expectation that they would say yes?
So often, these dynamics aren’t explicitly obvious, but show up in more of a felt sense. It’s hard to describe, but they really impact a person’s ability to provide true consent, and is heavily intertwined with our experiences in attachment and emotional attunement.
One of the core requirements for true consent to exist is the ongoing permission to say no or to change your mind at any time.
On my retreat, it was truly mind blowing to be offered care, and get a sense that the offer was coming from someone regulated (or is fully capable of regulating themselves so I wouldn’t have to).
Consenting to receiving care (or turning it down) felt clear, and like I TRULY could respond from what felt right for ME, and not what I think I’m “supposed to” say.
These moments were small, but SO incredibly powerful for me, and for younger parts of me who hadn’t experienced that before.
I could really receive it if I wanted it, and I could really say no and sense that everyone would still be okay. Parts of me knew this was possible before, and parts of me learned it for the first time on this retreat. It was really, really powerful, and I’m so grateful I was able to experience that.
Going forward, this experience made me want to examine a lot of my current relationships, and see where I might need more clarity or boundaries.
Everyone deserves to experience true, clear consent, myself included.
Again, one of the core requirements for true consent to exist is the ongoing permission to say no or to change your mind at any time.
How often is this key requirement missing?
As a therapist working with trauma survivors, this is a topic frequently explored - not only when it comes to sexual trauma, but in everyday platonic relationships as well. If any of this resonates with you, I’d love to help you explore it further. Reach out to see if we might be a good fit.
